Dead Men Don't Regenerate
by OctoberProject
Summary: Seven Doctors are being pulled in one by one on Halloween night to what would seem like a perfectly benign haunted house - benign except for the corpse found in the hidden chamber. The third - and fourth - annual October Projects !
1. A Dead Man Starts This Tale

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: None of us owns Doctor Who. This makes us upset. Be glad we're taking it out on the Doctor.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

_**Chapter 1: A Dead Man Starts This Tale**_

_Starring: Dr. Guessom and Det. Factor_

* * *

The room could only be reached by a hidden door behind a flip-away bookcase, controlled by a tarnished brass candlestick. There might also have been access via a spiral flight of cast iron stairs, but so far, no one had shown any willingness to brave the spider webs that covered it. The walls in the room were bare, warped, and holystoned nearly bone white. The room itself smelled heavily of dust, must, and ancient things that have been allowed to weather undisturbed for ages. Add a grey film nearly an inch thick over almost every surface, and it was doubtful that the room had been opened in many years.

However, the perfect dust and creaking silence had been disturbed recently, and that disturbance had not failed to disturb everyone to see it since. First, the words written on the wall in foot high letters looked very suspiciously like blood. Second, the suspicious blood-like substance trailed off with messy finality into a streak that covered what was left of that wall. Finally, propped just below it, was the body.

The body was headless, and handless, and dressed in solid black. The boots which the corpse retained were fine tooled leather, the impeccable suit rich velvet. There was not one speck of dust on his clothing, even less than that on the matte black of his boots.

"Only one set of footprints anywhere near the body," observed the witch in the formerly hidden doorway of the room.

The rogue archaeologist at her side held up a small booted foot, exactly the size of the mentioned footprints. "It's impossible," she added.

The witch - white haired with a single jet black lock - grinned a happy, black-lipped smile. "You really stepped in it this time," she cackled.

If looks really could kill, the corpse would have had company. After all, in the archaeologist's opinion, this whole thing was the witch's fault.

* * *

_How it happened..._

Gayle laughed in delight - actually, it was more of a giggle - as she watched the bookcase screech and slide away from the "haunted" parlor. If any old house was going to be worthy of secret passageways and hidden chambers, she would have put money on this gem. And sure enough, she was right.

The bookcase came to a grinding, yet surprisingly quiet halt. Gayle tipped her fur felt fedora gratefully towards the antique candlestick/trigger mechanism and stepped toward the newly-revealed gap, ready to explore her new surroundings.

She did a playful little pirouette on the toe of her boot, then promptly froze in her tracks.

This room was decidedly different from what she had seen of the rest of the haunted house. There were no spun-sugar cobwebs; only the genuine, thick cobwebs that covered a narrow spiral staircase. There were no faux-flame lanterns; only electric lights shining from sconces on the otherwise bare, bone-colored walls. Well, they were almost bare. The stone floor was almost bare as well.

The reasons they were not completely bare were the decapitated corpse lying at the far side of the narrow room, and the words "THE DOCTOR" written on the wall above it, apparently in blood.

Gayle leaned against the secret entrance, supporting herself with her left hand and covering her mouth with her right as a brief wave of nausea passed. Her eyes darted away reflexively from the body and fixed on the lettering.

Every bit of her training was screaming that it was real blood. It was darker than the costume blood she had seen on some of the staff in the house. It had the right flat kind of sheen. And as much as she tried to ignore it, that was definitely the right kind of smell.

Reluctantly, Gayle let her gaze travel down to the floor beneath the words. As she took a few hesitant steps forward, she dug in her shoulder bag for her cell phone. Kneeling on the cold floor about a foot away from the body, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying very hard not to breathe through her nose. Nerves as steady as they'd ever be, she took a good look at what she was dealing with.

Unless Mr. Master, the owner of the Haunted House, had thrown the bulk of his budget into hiring some kind of Hollywood special effects guru for this one room, there was no way this was not a real, human body before her. It was lying face up - or would have been, if it had had a face - and was dressed in a black velvet morning suit with a gold brocade trimmed collar. Both hands were also missing, cut cleanly off, just like the head. There wasn't nearly enough blood at the wrists or neck for the man (at least, she presumed it was a man) to have been killed right here. However, there weren't any obvious signs of the body having been dragged or carried to this spot, either.

There were a few seemingly random odds and ends scattered on the floor around the body, or half stuffed into the pockets of its suit, but none of them were granting her any immediate clues.

Having seen quite enough for the present, Gayle climbed unsteadily to her feet. She flipped open her phone, and pressed one on the speed dial. She dusted off her bare knees while she waited for the call to pick up, silently cursing her decision to wear the cute shorts with her "Indiana Jones: Archaeologist" costume, instead of the long pants she'd wanted to wear. Her roommate was to blame for this, possibly for all of this.

Gayle straightened when the dispatcher's voice came over the line. "This is Dr. Guessom," she told the sergeant, hoping he couldn't hear the quaver in her voice. "Detective Factor, please? I need to report a homicide."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	2. Perfectly Suspicious

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: We do not yet own Doctor Who. Still.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 2: Perfectly Suspicious_**

_Starring: Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor frowned at her notes. Object one: the unidentified body. Questioning of the staff of the Haunted House had revealed that the black velvet suit and the brocade collar were always worn by the suave, sophisticated Ian T. Master, the Proprietor of the Haunted House. He was - or had been, she supposed - quite the most important person in the city, moneyed and propertied and charitable. He'd built a new wing on the local hospital, supplied all new science equipment for three nearby high schools, and was known to show up anywhere just to shake hands and smile serenely at people.

The Haunted House itself was meant to benefit some sort of Legal Aid if the flyer she'd found in the entrance hall was correct. Tonight's event, a Costume Ball and exclusive tour, had been purely for the benefit and entertainment of the Police. A massive amount of alcohol had been served earlier. Thus, Detective Factor, as one of only two homicide Detectives on the force who had not attended, was the one assigned the case. Religious reasons didn't override homicide, especially not the homicide of helpful rich men.

"He's got offices in the very front room there, right?" Detective Factor asked of the nearest of a pack of uniformed police who were all considering their surroundings with a sort of rookie fascination.

"Sure," said a blond kid labeled as 'Trevor'. "Standard cube farm for all his support staff. Joe's trying to reach the office manager to get keys to everything."

"Great. Meanwhile, I'm gonna need those cubicles for questioning people. You guys take down the names and addresses of all the invited guests. I want to talk to anyone who actually knows the man personally, anyone who shouldn't be here for whatever reason, and anyone who is here from out of state. And send me that office manager as soon as you find it."

Passing haunted traps that looked plastic and silly with full light shining on them, rooms where fake dead bodies and pretend horrors were all waiting for a tour that would never come, Factor came at last to a set of double doors that read "Employees Only", through which she could see ordinary gray carpet and simple fluorescent lighting. "This place is weird," she muttered to herself as she flung the doors open on a textbook example of a perfect upper crust office. There were about twenty little cubicles, each with a neat little terminal, a spotless blotter, a small locked cabinet, and a pair of chairs. Even the plants were bright and healthy, instead of wilted or over-watered.

"Disturbing," Factor muttered again, and punched her cell phone for the county morgue - button 2 for "Dead" on her speed dial. "Have you got our John Doe yet?" she asked of the night Assistant Coroner who picked up the phone.

"Dr. Guessom just brought him in," the young man agreed. "But she says it's Mr. Master, not a John Doe."

"Can't tell," Factor said. "No head, no hands, no fingerprints, no dental records, no clue. Could be anybody. Tell Gayle to call me if she finds anything interesting. I've just found something here."

She had, too, and she'd not even got inside the Office area very well yet. The room next to the Office was a kitchen, as she could see clearly through its glass-paned doors. Opposite those doors were a set of French doors that opened out onto the grounds. She knew because they were currently held open.

A very tall man with a shock of white hair stepped into the room, his expression wary and almost as tense as Factor felt. His costume looked like a cross between James Bond and the conductor from those Disney films. The Detective smiled quietly to herself. Somehow, she just knew this was going to be interesting.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Opening Remarks

__

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: For some reason we can't put our fingers on, they still don't seem to want to hand the Doctor over to us. Is it something we said?

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 3: Opening Remarks_**

_Starring: The Third Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor approached the man in the kitchen with a wary step and a hand at her back (where her service weapon was stored safely out of sight). As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, she was assailed by the wonderful smells of fresh cookies and dark chocolate but she refused to let that distract her. Instead, she approached the gentleman, realizing as she did so that the man looked harried and was brushing a leaf irritably from his hair. "Good evening, sir," she greeted warily. "I'm Detective Factor. I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me."

The man eyed her nearly as warily as she considered him, then reluctantly followed her. At the door, Factor was amused to note, he seemed greatly offended that she opened it for herself. She let him get the second one, since it seemed the polite thing to do, and since she didn't want to explain why she had a gun holster roped into the small of her back.

In another few moments, she'd escorted the man to the cubicle farthest away and set up her portable recorder. "Could you state your name for the record, please, sir?"

The Doctor sighed and shook his head. He hated that question this time around. He always had to have a name... "My name is the Doctor. But, in your case, Doctor John Smith might be more appropriate."

Detective Factor looked surprised at this, her dark eyes dancing briefly before settling back to peer intently into his face. "Do you know why you're here?"

The Time Lord glared at her, making sure she knew he was angry at the questions being asked of him. "My dear woman, if I knew the answer to that question, would I be sitting here looking so confused?" He scowled at the wall across from where he was sitting and finished his answer, not bothering to hide the anger in his voice. "No! I don't know why I'm here. I don't even know where 'here' is."

Detective Factor brushed her hair back with a hand, smiling a small, tentative smile. "What if I told you this was a haunted house, with a dead body in it. Would you know anything about that, then?"

"I'd ask if the body was real or fake, but considering I'm being interrogated over it, I guess it is real." Running a finger over his chin, the Doctor sighed in frustration. "That still doesn't mean I know where I am, or why I am here. And it definitely doesn't mean I know anything about a body in a haunted house. And since I know ghosts don't exist, I very much doubt the house is haunted."

Detective Factor nodded thoughtfully, glancing down at a sheet of paper in her lap. "So... Dr. Smith, I don't find your name on the guest list anywhere tonight. If you didn't know this was a haunted house and open to the public, what exactly were you here for?"

This time, he rubbed at his eyes, knowing that his 'grilling' wouldn't be over for quite a while. Was he honestly in questioning as a suspect to a murder?

"Believe it or not, but I am here quite by mistake. I don't know where or when I am, and your constant questioning isn't helping matters. Where is this Haunted House, and what is the date?"

Factor blinked, then scribbled a note on a hastily conjured pad of paper. It read simply 'psych?', but the Detective knew she wouldn't be forgetting what it meant any time soon. "It's October 31st. I'd have thought, with us both in costume, that that would be very obvious. Also, in case you were very drunk, sir, we're in Metro Beach, Virginia, in the United States, North America, planet Earth. Oh, and it's the twenty-first century, John Cleese is PM, and Arnold Schwarzenegger is President." (She just wanted to see what he'd make of that last bit. He sounded British, so he'd know about the PM, and even the Brits would know if American law had changed to the other extent, right?) She sighed. "How hard did you party tonight, sir?"

He couldn't help it, he really couldn't. These questions were not anywhere near properly asked or the right ones. John Cleese as president? Who did she think he was? And as to the date...well!

"Year, my dear woman, I meant what year it is, the day is quite obvious, yes. As to costumes, how am I supposed to know that you were dressed up, as this is the way I normally dress? I am not in a costume.

"I figured out from your accent and manner of speaking I was in the United States of America somewhere, but at least thank you for answering one of my questions properly."

The Detective opened her mouth for the second time, but the Doctor rushed right over her. "If you honestly think that John Cleese is the Prime Minister and Arnold Schwarzenegger is president though...then I'd say you're the one who has been drinking. Not to mention watching too much television."

_Ooops_, Detective Factor thought.

"As to my drinking, I rarely do, and even then, alcohol doesn't affect me the same way it does you. I am not drunk, nor have I 'partied' any today. One moment I was in a power plant and the next I was here. Well, I could have ended up anywhere, any time, but that I landed here when a murder happened is by complete chance."

He tried to keep the anger out of his voice as he raised his last point, but he knew by the end of what he said, he was shouting. "I am a doctor, madam, I don't like violence. I only fight if I need to defend myself, and I never would raise a weapon against another for the purpose of killing just for killing. That you even think me capable of this is insulting!"

"Wasn't one of the prime suspects for Jack the Ripper a doctor?" Detective Factor wondered aloud, then quickly raised a hand to stop a rage that looked likely to result in her guest storming away. He was, apparently, open to being helpful, even if he was bat shit crazy. For some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, the Detective was almost sure that the man she had here was _not_ the killer. A killer probably, if he needed to be, no matter what he said, but the killer of this man, she was starting to doubt. "Dr. Smith, you've been very helpful and patient with us, so I apologize if this situation seems a little odd. The truth is, it is odd. Just answer one more question, if you can. Do you happen to know a philanthropist called Ian Master?"

He would have probably ended up yelling at her some more if the questions, all but the last, hadn't stopped. And that last question, well, it had piqued his interest. "Master, you say? Oh, I know a Master. If this is his doing, then I can assure you that, yes, this would not only be odd, but more complicated than you realize. Tell me, is the body still here?"

Detective Factor was abruptly fascinated with the suspicious, wary, and strangely exasperated expression that had just bloomed on Dr. Smith's face. "His _doing_... wha..." Her phone sang out a loud, overwrought intro from 'Phantom of the Opera' which caused Dr. Smith to smirk at her. Factor checked the number and shook her head, unsurprised but unsure exactly how to handle this. She needed that information.

With a flourish, she silenced her phone. "If you don't mind, Dr. Smith, I've got to step out for a moment. The body isn't here anymore, you see, but I've got to get a report on it. If you can just wait here a moment, the sergeant will be in to take your... what do you call them? particulars? Your contact info, so you'll be able to leave."

Factor could have sworn, as she made her way up the office, that she heard the poor, annoyed Dr. Smith mutter, "Oh, no, my good woman, I've no intention of going anywhere."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Being Not Amused

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: Ha! You didn't actually think we _owned_ Doctor Who, did you? Why ever would we be writing this if we did?

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 4: Being Not Amused_**

_Starring: Dr. Guessom and Det. Factor_

* * *

"Tell me something I want to hear!" Detective Factor's voice rang out over the phone.

Dr. Guessom shook her head as she pulled the receiver a bit away from her ears. Her friend was always a little wired when working on a difficult case, and often voiced an inexplicable enthusiasm for things. "I'm alive?" Gayle offered sardonically. Best she could do, she was almost certain.

"Hooray," the Detective replied dryly. "How about our friend there? I know he's not still alive. Heck, he didn't even have a name last time we met. Any update on him?"

Gayle glanced over at where the night coroner, Dr. Manor, was finishing the preliminary autopsy. He was in training, at least as a coroner, and thus Gayle was letting him handle all the basics. (It wasn't that she'd wanted no dead bodies when she'd first set her career goals, it was just that she'd expected them to be significantly more advanced in their deadness.) If anyone asked, she would blame the fact that she was still dressed as a very feminine Indiana Jones.

"Base to Dr. Guessom?" Factor's voice teased over the phone line.

Gayle nodded to no one in particular. "Officially, he's still a John Doe, for now. Estimated height and weight from partial remains: five feet nine inches, one hundred eighty pounds. Estimated age: mid-fifties."

Factor's tone had turned serious. "One of the staff gave a similar estimate on Master. Even had a photo with him in it, but it's seriously blurry. I'll be sending it to the lab so you guys can try to clean it up."

"Let me get my notepad," Gayle allowed, and went hunting. When she came back, Detective Factor was talking off the line to someone, but the conversation wasn't at all clear.

"You back yet?" Factor asked suddenly.

"Just about," Gayle agreed, putting the finishing touches on her newest series of notes on this case.

"Brilliant. Any idea on the murder weapon, yet?"

"Head and hands were removed with single, clean strokes from a bladed instrument," Gayle offered. "Without the whole body, particularly the head..."

"Gotcha," Factor agreed. She sounded like she might be thumping something. Gayle tugged a watch from one of the trillion or so spare pockets in her leather jacket, then time stamped her notes while Factor talked. "Could've been strangled or shot in the head, instead of the way we found him. I don't suppose you know if he was poisoned?"

"No alcohol or weird chemicals in the blood, aside from some nicotine. I sent samples to tox to check for everything I can't get down here."

"Fast autopsy," Factor observed. "Or is this just the preliminaries? Have you checked for anything special?"

Gayle looked over to where Dr. Manor was meticulously preparing slides from various tissues. She didn't think she'd need her notes for this, which was just as well since the recording was not ready to transcribe. "I did open him up, and there's nothing out of the ordinary there. Lungs confirm he was definitely a smoker. Stomach contents were roast beef and potatoes, green beans, a boatload of gravy, and carbonated water. Time of death was within an hour of eating. Might've known it'd be his last meal."

"Something suspicious?" Factor asked, her tone now intent and focused. Gayle smiled as she found herself picturing a small, furry animal about to be mauled. "Did you find something I don't know about?"

"Not really," Gayle allowed reluctantly. "But there's something that just doesn't feel right."

Factor was silent for a few moments. "Good point," she admitted quietly after Gayle had started to wonder if the woman had decided to walk away. "How about on the body? Hairs, fibers? Foreign blood? Objects?" She drew a deep, heavy breath. "Please tell me you found his driver's license in his Batman underoos."

It was only the desperation in Factor's tone that kept Gayle from laughing at that last. She turned to the comforting weight of facts in order to allow the humor to pass. "Nothing else in the pockets besides what we left there with you," Gayle apologized. "Still, we can probably get an ID. Blood type's AB positive, and that's the same as the sample from the wall. If you can get me Master's medical records that'll be simple enough to verify. DNA, too, if our DB is in CODIS. And the suit and boots are custom, but if you can find some of his other clothes the sizes should be easy enough to compare."

"Damn and blast," Factor grumbled. "All right, so you make time of death when?"

"Like I said before, about an hour after dinner. The party started at eight, but I don't know if he was there or not with all the black and the masks."

"That's it, though?" Factor pleaded. "What about liver temp, rigor, all that stuff?"

"Aside from what I already told you, I've got nothing to go on," Gayle reiterated. "He's fresh, I can tell you that much. Body temperature was well above that in the room, and he hasn't been spending any time under a heat lamp. I'd give him three hours, tops, before I found him."

There was a sound that Gayle was almost certain was her roommate thumping her head against the wall. Factor was usually reasonably careful, but usually the location was safe enough. Most of the time, even when they were in the middle of a homicide investigation, they forced themselves to find moments of peace and humor, but it was always harder for Detective Factor. She always seemed to feel that a failure had already happened by the time they got the bodies. "Hey, you don't have to..."

"Detective!" That voice was entirely too near Factor's phone, near enough that Gayle suspected he was about to get a headache (and perhaps a lovely right cross to go with it).

"Yes, Matt?" the Detective asked to someone off to the side. There were several moments of muttered, burbling conversation, and then Factor's voice appeared back on the line clearly. She sounded pained - excruciatingly so. "I have to go question someone else," she said, and that seemed to be it.

When it wasn't, Gayle asked, "What's going on?"

"You will not believe the clown - and I mean that in the most accurate possible tone - that just wandered in here. I'm a little amazed that Andrew Lloyd Weber let him get this far away with the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."

"Oh, poor you," Gayle snickered.

"Have I mentioned I'm afraid of clowns?" Factor asked.

"You are not," Gayle tossed back at her. "You've got that one silly print on your walls."

Factor grumbled something about caught. "I'm going to go deal with this now," she insisted.

"It's fine," said Gayle. "I'll stay here and hear all about the clown later."

"When?" Factor teased. "When you're not afraid of them anymore?"

Dr. Guessom was not amused.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Technicolor Dream Coat

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: May I return to the beginning, the light is dimming, we don't own Who! The world and I, we are still waiting, still hesitating, 'til we own Who!

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 5: Detective Factor and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat  
_**

_Starring: The Sixth Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor walked into the cubicle where the blond man in the brightly colored coat waited for her. He was obviously just as annoyed with her now as he had been when the uniformed officers first brought him to her. She couldn't help but wonder what the man she had been questioning before had told the officers after she had left their conference. Unfortunately, she absolutely had to focus on this person.

She tried, she really did, to start things off politely, but he was seething and had been since at least the moment she met him. Sitting down in the chair across from him, she slipped a fresh cassette into her tiny recorder and turned it on, then gave her name and the date as if she would ever forget this. "I'll need your name for the record, please, sir," she began to the angry blond.

"I have already _told_ you," the man in the lurid patchwork coat snapped, giving her the sort of a look a teacher might give a particularly slow, and stubborn pupil. "My name is the Doctor! _Surely_ that's not too terribly complicated for you?"

Detective Factor forced herself not to take it personally. Perhaps his night was going nearly as badly as her own. "Do you know why you're here, erm, Doctor?"

His lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a scowl, and he didn't even care to disguise the annoyance in his tone. "It depends on if you mean here, which can be easily explained as some young detective detaining me for reasons she has yet to put forth," blue eyes narrowed as he examined her closely, "or _here_, which is quite the tangled web, isn't it? Perhaps you would be so kind as to _enlighten_ me?"

Detective Factor sat back in her chair, the man's presence and vehemence taking up all the room there was between them and nearly physically forcing her away. "You know, if it weren't Halloween, I'd say your coat was something that someone needed enlightening about," she observed grimly. "Look, I'm a busy woman. Since I'm also the one with the badge, and the one with the dead body, why don't you let me ask you the questions? Do you happen to know anything - at all - useful about the proprietor of the Haunted House?"

"Anything useful?" The Doctor repeated, voice rising with indignation. "I can tell you that whoever he is, he has _no_ concept of how to properly accommodate his guests! Which wouldn't surprise me in the slightest, if my assumptions are proven correct." He scoffed. "Anything useful. Of all the _ridiculous_ driv-"

Suddenly he stopped, a curious expression crossing his face. "_Halloween_, you say?"

Detective Factor eyed the lurid man suspiciously. Was he, too, going to claim he had no idea of the time, anymore than he obviously knew about the place? "Yes, Halloween, also known as All Hallow's Eve, a theoretically more innocent take on the old Pagan holiday of Samhain, which survives as the Day of the Dead in some traditions." She almost smiled when her vociferous detainee started to look reluctantly impressed. "Mind you, it now involves extortion and bizarre costumes, such as yours. I have to know. did you forget your face paint and red nose, or is this some sort of retake on the Eighties?"

When the man sputtered and fumed at her, looking quite like his head was about to explode, Factor realized what she was doing - staring at the coat like a trainwreck. "I'm sorry, sir, it's your coat. Apparently, it and I were involved in a torrid and doomed affair in a past life. I can't seem to take my eyes off it." She shook her head, and forced herself to look away from the coat and up to meet the enraged, blazing eyes. "Sorry. Look, why is it important to you if it's Halloween?"

The man sat up perfectly straight in his chair, glaring across the space between them, and when he spoke, his words were clipped. His hands came up to grasp the edges of his coat, pulling it tighter in a sharp, almost self-conscious movement. "I'll have you know this is the very _height_ of fashion on Kalpendi! Not that I would expect someone like you to have heard of it."

He cast a disparaging eye over her costume, letting what it told him filter through his mind. Either late twentieth or early twenty-first century, by the look of the dress. And if her accent, along with that of the other officers, was anything to go by, the east coast of the United States. He nodded inwardly; the information could prove useful, later.

"And as for why it matters that today is Halloween." Abruptly, his entire bearing changed. He leaned forward slightly, a mysterious gleam lit up his eyes, and his lips quirked up into something like a smile. "_Nothing_. Perhaps. Or _everything_. Until you tell me what you yourself have gathered so far, all I can tell you is that there's certainly _far_ more to this than meets the eye."

"What I have gathered so far can, I'm afraid, fit in a thimble. However, I have a cat shaped pin that was found with the body and is identical to the one on your lapel. Can you explain that, by any chance?"

He watched as she lifted a small, clear bag up for him to see and, as she said, there was a cat pin inside. It was one of the black ones, its green-bead eyes staring blankly at him through the plastic. The Doctor didn't have to look down at his lapel to know it certainly looked just like the one hanging there - he had picked it out because it went rather fetchingly with the mustard-yellow chain for his pocket watch - but the more he stared at it, the more sure he was that it _couldn't_ be.

"I have no idea." He muttered, frowning. Then, his eyes flicked over to the detective and his voice rose again. "Did you say _body_?"

Factor honestly felt like screaming. She was tempted to do several bad things to this man, not the least of which was shoot him (and not the most inexplicable either: he wasn't remotely her type so why... ahem). "Yes, I said body. I've said body, several times. I'll probably say it again a few more times to you, and then a few more once I round up everyone around here who is actually a doctor, and everyone around here who calls himself a doctor and claims he got his fashion sense in a Third Zone spice market. It's a headless, handless body, dressed in black velvet. Do you know anything about it?"

Black velvet? A piece to this puzzle was working its way into place, but it didn't quite seem to _fit_...

"This body of yours." The blue eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly as if trying to get a better view of something. "Does it happen to have a _name_?"

Detective Factor took a deep breath, feeling her eye start to twitch. How could someone go to a party without knowing the host's name? Unless, of course, he wasn't meant to be there... "His name is Mister Ian Master, quite the philanthr-"

"_Ian Master_?" He repeated, an incredulous look crossing his face. He sat back heavily in his chair, ignoring the glare being sent his way. "HA! He's not even _trying_ this time, is he?"

Detective Factor leaned back in her seat, to protect herself from his sudden enthusiasm. "No, I'd say he isn't. He's a bit on the dead side, you see, and it's very hard to do much of anything when one's so completely dead as this."

The blond waved a large, negligent hand. "It's not him, don't be ridiculous."

Of all the responses she had expected, and there were quite a few, Detective Factor was almost completely certain that that wasn't one of them. She knew she had two ways through this: she could act all angry and incredulous and determined and get no where, or she could sort of agree with him, and see if the answer she got out of that made any sense.

"All right," she allowed warily. "Who do you think it is, then?"

"First," The Doctor looked her dead in the eye, face a mask of seriousness that sent a chill down the detective's spine. She couldn't look away. "When you examined the body, was there anything truly, terribly bizarre about it? Oh, yes, yes, spare me the 'this in an ex-parrot' routine. What about, say, something a perfectly normal, perfectly _human_ body would not naturally have?"

Detective Factor scoffed. "What, like...two livers, or an extra eye in his knee, that sort of thing?" She got the feeling he didn't find that amusing. Truth be told, neither did she. Shaking her head, she replied, "No, not a thing wrong with him that's not explained by being one dead human being."

He nodded sharply, glancing again at the cat pin in the evidence bag that had been left lying on the table, then back up to her. "Even if you _are_ still labouring under the misapprehension that I had anything to do with this, detective," the man said, with a note of depth, of experience, that one dressed in a coat that looked as if a rainbow had been scalped for it probably shouldn't have, "Hamlet was far from wrong when he said, '_there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy._'"

"Actually, my philosophy dreams in color," Detective Factor said, starting to grin. "I'll..." There was a sinister measure of music. "Damn. Hold that Shakespeare and I'll get right back to you."

Lifting her phone from its holder, Detective Factor stalked off to find a quiet place to answer it.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. The First True Clue

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: Please, please don't make us say it again. *sigh* It's not ours.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

_**Chapter 6: The First True Clue**_

_Starring: The First Doctor, Det. Factor and Dr. Guessom_

* * *

The first thing Detective Factor did, apart from swearing a vividly blue stripe into the paint between the cubicle she'd been using for her latest interview and the door to the office area, was look around for a couple uniforms to tell her about what happened with the first... erm... with Doctor Smith.

She silenced the Phantom on her mobile - she'd call Gayle back in a minute - as she found the perfect person to present with her frustrations: Sergeant Maynard. "Hi," she said, with brittle, false politeness. "Anything on that office manager yet?"

"Not yet," Maynard apologized. "But we did get into Mr. Master's desk. That white-haired old guy's apparently some sort of magician, said the lock was no match for him, so I figured it was a civilian doing the unlocking, nothing to do with illegal search, right?"

"That, and the owner of the desk is dead, and therefore can't be arrested," Detective Factor agreed. "Find anything useful?"

Maynard shrugged. "All we got was the personnel files. Here's the office manager's, and here's Mr. Master's own file."

"Brilliant!" Detective Factor exclaimed, relieved. "At least we can contact Mrs. Master or Master Jr, or..." The first folder she had snatched was the office manager's, not Mr. Master's, and it was obviously going to be a problem. She simply turned the folder, open, over above the floor and watched as the nothing in it fell out. The Sergeant looked at the lack of paper work in confusion, while the Detective shuffled to Mr. Master's folder. She flipped open the folder, eyes automatically scanning the single sheet of paper for an emergency contact or next of kin or any such. What she found listed in that blank made her shiver.

"I'm going to call Dr. Guessom, now," she said very quietly. "No one sees that but me," she added, handing the folder back to the Sergeant. "No one."

The Detective straightened her velvet dress and slipped out of the office, into the corridor where it was at least marginally quiet. She couldn't even begin to understand...

The phone in her pocket jumped, then wailed restless bars of Andrew Lloyd Weber while Factor tried to throttle it. This, she suspected, was her punishment for trying to have a quiet night at home. Silent Supper like her mother had taught her, and good memories of all the attendees, but no. That was out because something that should not be happening was happening here. In fact, several somethings that should not be happening were happening in rapid succession here.

"What?" she asked, wearily, and forced herself not to bang her head back on the wall.

* * *

"Are you all right?" Dr. Guessom asked kindly, hoping to give her friend some small measure of comfort on what was looking to be a rough night for all of them.

"I can't find the office manager, but I got the personnel files," the Detective said, sounding gloomy.

"Well, that's good, isn't it? You can get the office manager's address or something, right?"

"The folder's empty," Factor replied. "But on the plus side, I now have the name of Mr. Master's next of kin."

"Lemme guess," Gayle said. "'The doctor'? As in written-in-blood 'THE DOCTOR'?"

Detective Factor gave a very strange sounding sigh. "Something like that." Gayle had rarely heard the woman sound so evasive. Then, Factor seemed to shake herself, because her voice returned to the usual blunt professionalism of their working relationship. "What've you got?"

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Gayle asked, keeping her tone intentionally light in contrast to the Detective's apparent mood.

"You found something cool on the tests?" Detective Factor almost sounded excited now. Gayle couldn't even imagine what she was expecting, but she almost hated to disillusion the poor woman.

"Well, test results are back," Gayle reported as she glanced back over the write-ups spread across her desk. "Tox was all negative, except for the nicotine. And it's definitely John Doe's blood on the wall; DNA matches. So, if we ever find some hair, or nail clippings, or something of Master's, we can check it against that."

"So the bad news is nothing interesting?" Detective Factor asked hopefully. Gayle knew good and well that the woman knew better, so she didn't deign to justify the question with a response. After a short pause, Factor confirmed. "Fine, what did forensics recover on Mr. Master?"

"And that's the bad news," Gayle told her. "Not only haven't we found any other offices of his, but we can't locate any medical records, either. And the team I sent out to Master's residence? The place doesn't exist."

"You mean the uniforms couldn't find it?"

"I mean, it literally does not exist. GPS took them out into the boonies, and they even knocked on doors but no one out there had heard of Master. We tracked down the mail carrier on that route – and federal employees are not easy to find at this hour, let me tell you – but she said she'd never heard of the address, let alone gotten mail for it. Everything goes to the PO Box."

Speaking of that hour of the night, Dr. Manor opened Gayle's office door just then, depositing two triple-shot caramel espressos on her desk. She waved her thanks as he left, closing the door behind him.

"So the only thing I can think of," Gayle continued, pausing to take a much needed sip of caffeine, "is next of kin. If you can track them down, we can maybe find out where Master really lives. Lived. And as long as they're actually related to him, we can do a comparative DNA analysis to finally ID the body."

"Do one of those broad sweep things and see if the John Doe's got a relative in CODIS," Factor recommended instead. "It's been suggested that the body isn't Ian Master, and in fact couldn't possibly be Ian Master."

Gayle blinked at the news. "Well that's not very helpful, let alone specific," she observed.

Factor sounded nearly infinitely frustrated when she replied, "Tell me about it."

"Detective, you'd better come see this!" Gayle heard the garbled call, followed by soft, intense swearing, and then the dial tone.

* * *

Detective Factor had already decided that the mildly dusty old Doc Holiday impersonator was not involved in the case in the slightest before she even sat down across from the man. He was well to do, she was sure, and expected to be treated as a person of importance, and the arrogance rolled off him in waves as he arranged himself in his seat across from her. Nonetheless, the Detective had also deduced that the only chance she had of getting any information out of this man was if he turned out to be Master's lawyer in costume.

She said her speech to her recorder again, and the old man stared at her as if she'd fallen in from outer space. She stared back at him the exact same way, and he gave a huffy gesture that was meant to say she was not worth his time. Detective Factor decided she adored the old bear. He reminded her of her old teacher. "I'll need you to say your name again, sir," she asked nicely. "For the record."

The old man glared at her, arms crossed over his chest in a manner that was almost petulant. "I didn't tell you what my name was the first time," he snapped, "and I'm certainly not going to start now. For all intents and purposes, my name is the Doctor." He sat back in his chair, evidently deciding that the subject was closed.

No, absolutely, positively... Detective Factor pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do you know why I've asked you to be here, sir?"

He seemed almost amused for a moment. "Here? What 'here' are you talking about? Here on Earth, here in this room, here in the early twenty-first century, or here being interrogated by an oddly-dressed detective?"

"So it's 'the' Doctor, is it?" said Detective Factor, a tired smile tugging at the corner of her black-painted lips. "Not 'a' Doctor, not just some PhD someone might have a grudge against, but 'the' Doctor." The old man nodded curtly.

"Excellent," the Detective said. "I've a dead body with your name on it. Would you care to explain?"

"Preposterous," he retorted, brow furrowing in annoyance. "What are you talking about?"

Detective Factor gave a slightly crazy grin. "It's a body. It's dead, and headless, and has the words 'The Doctor' painted on the wall above it. I can't begin to explain any aspect of this crime, apparently, but if you're the mentioned 'the Doctor', perhaps you know it. Have you ever met an Ian Master?"

"I've met a Master, but the only person I know named Ian is expecting me to return at any moment."

Detective Factor smiled. Despite what she was hearing, she was convinced there was absolutely no way this fragile old man who was, incidentally, not covered in blood, had anything to do with this. He was small and frail and looked, quite honestly, like someone's grandfather. She took a deep breath to make sure she still had a handle on her bearings. Then, something struck her. "Wait, did you say something about being in the early twenty-first century?"

The old man looked amusingly shifty for a moment, then nodded, tersely and reluctantly.

"Would you believe me if I told you you're not the first person today to ask me what year it is?" she asked. Factor was afraid that she'd definitely sounded incredulous when she relayed that information. She still wasn't sure she had a choice.

The old man tucked his hands into his lapels, looking very much like Detective Factor's mental definition of smug. It had an extra dash of arrogant, as well. "I have been known to believe any number of things, young woman, provided I am not required to believe in them. At the moment, I believe you have no right to detain me."

Detective Factor smiled her best smile and decided to ramp up her charm. "Well, of course I wasn't detaining you, sir. As you say, we've no right, and you're not under arrest or even suspicion, truly. I was just hoping you'd be willing to put your... knowledge, experience, into the service of the public good. You say you know someone called 'Master'. Was he by chance a philanthropist?"

He smirked. "The Master is capable of anything if it gets him what he wants," he said. "If this is indeed the same man, which is doubtful at best, I wouldn't put any faith in his benevolent nature."

Finally, they were getting somewhere! "Okay, so if he..." A uniformed officer knocked on the cubicle wall and Factor considered putting him through it. "What?" she demanded.

The young man started back, nearly knocking over the young woman with him. "It's Dispatch," he managed to stammer out. "Th-the Chief. Wants you to call?"

Factor really wanted a drink. "Don't mind me, Rookie," she half-way apologized. "I'm just mad 'cause the family's in Azkaban." She managed a smile at the completely baffled expression on the kid's face, then turned to the... erm, the latest, Doctor. "I'm very sorry. I hope you'll excuse me for just a moment. I'll try to be right back."

The Doctor waved her away as if she was a lesser being. Factor tried not to feel like one. It helped considerably that the poor Rookie still looked baffled - and his partner was grinning wickedly.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	7. Stuck in the Sitcom with You

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: Alas, we have yet to acquire the rights to Doctor Who. In the meantime, we write fanfics...

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

_**Chapter 7: Stuck in the Sitcom with You**_

_Starring: The Seventh Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor stalked out into the hallway, wondering exactly what the Chief of Police could possibly want with her when he was supposed to be at a terribly important social gathering of some sort. All the important people were at that party, and all the police and semi-important people had been at this one, and Detective Factor had been at home, and now she wasn't.

She opened several doors to find uniforms writing reports and making phone calls and taking measurements. Finally, she came to a section of hallway that seemed relatively quiet, she pushed open a door and found a room filled, floor to ceiling, with bookshelves. And every single shelf was crammed full of books, books on every possible subject imaginable, from the most mundane cheesy romance to advanced forensics. This gave Factor a moment's pause, but the phone in her hand rang, and she had no more time to dwell. She just gave the room a cursory glance, hoped there was no one hiding in the shelves, and answered.

"Detective Factor speaking."

"Fluffer?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

"Factor," the Detective corrected briskly. Not this again.

"Right, whatever. Listen, you're looking into that murder, aren't you, um, Faff?"

"Factor. Yes, sir." She stifled a sigh. It was like being in a sitcom, listening to the chief talk, sometimes. "You're at Mr. Master's party, aren't you, sir?"

"What's that, Fraction?"

"Factor," she repeated, again. "The hospital charity event?"

"Oh, yes, definitely, erm, Fashion. It's going a great deal better here, really. Have you found the killer yet?"

"Well, no, sir," Factor started. "We've only..."

"I want him found, Fasten! Now!"

"Sir, if you'll just..."

"Friction, there's too much shoddy police work in this town. You know that, and you know I've sworn to stamp it out. To have a nice, respectable, helpful person like Mr. Master struck down, in a house full of police, I might add, well, Favor, that just reflects poorly on me."

"Factor," she said.

"What?" the chief asked, sounding rather as though he was shouting into a wind tunnel.

"My name," she started, then sighed. "Nevermind, sir. I'll get right back to..."

"Now, you just hold up there a minute, Fuster. Have you located the next of kin? Someone been to tell her?"

Factor blinked. "Sorry, sir, what was that about the next of kin?"

"Talked to the man, once. Strange fella. English, you know, Friendly." She wondered if that last was a new name for her, or if the chief was describing the deceased this time. "Said he had a kid as I recall. Thought he said it was a daughter, but it mighta been a son." The chief's voice meandered to muttering for a long pause, and then he was back. "You there, Friday? Did you talk to the kid?"

Factor wished sorcery was real. She wouldn't turn the chief into a toad - she really didn't need a pile of pesky amphibians - but she might consider turning herself into a toad to get away from him. "I'm certain the gentleman's next of kin won't be of any help in this investigation," she said. "And the evidence seems to indicate there'll be very little concern, either. Have you ever been to his house, sir?"

"What's that, Favor?"

"Mr. Master's home, sir," she said carefully. "Have you visited it?"

She could actually hear the captain shrug, then definitely heard him take a drink. "Was out at his offices once, where that haunted house party is. Isn't that where you found the body, Flitter?"

"Dr. Guessom found the body, sir."

"That boy's just too timid for that job, you know. Always talking about going to Egypt."

"Yes, sir," Factor agreed. "Only, she's a woman."

"Right. She's a smart woman, though, Fanning. Don't you forget that." She heard the man swallow and tried not to sob. "Well, no time to stand here jawing, you got work to do. At least arrest somebody, Fiction, and do it now!"

Take a deep breath and count back from ten, she told herself. "As soon as I find someone who might, even remotely, be the killer, I will."

"Good job, Fax, I knew I could count on you."

He hung up before she could tell him to take that stupid nickname and stick it where the sun didn't shine (his ass or his ear, it amounted to the same at the moment, really). She had just put her mobile phone away, and picked her notebook from one of the crammed shelves, when a voice appeared out of the thin, quiet atmosphere, right behind her.

She didn't hear what the man said, though she did later register that it had been a mere, "Hello, how do you do?" What she heard was a yelp in her own voice as the fight-or-flight responses kicked in, and then the sound of her cuffs closing on the man's wrists. "Who the hell are you?" Detective Factor demanded.

* * *

A few moments to calm down had the strange little man considering the oddly clad detective with quizzical, intense blue eyes. Factor found him curiously frightening, though not in any way she could explain. He was dark haired and about her height, though she towered over him with the shoes. His outfit was reasonably simple, a dark jacket over tweed trousers. The sweater vest and simple, however, had never met. It looked like an ad for a new shape of fruit loop or something, an endless field of screaming red question marks marching across a brightly colored background.

On a normal night, he would be easily the strangest man she'd ever met. Tonight, however, she had met the guy in the stolen rainbow coat, and had yet to meet anyone who knew a supposedly famous dead guy. It was going to be one of those nights.

"What did you say your name was, sir?" she asked tiredly. She didn't even have her recorder with her, so she would have to take notes by hand, which was tedious, and this night would keep getting longer.

"I didn't. What was yours? I'm afraid I'm terrible with names."

"Factor," she stated, decidedly not amused.

"Ah, yes, Factor. Rather unfortunate lineage with your line of work…It is police work, isn't it?" He surveyed her get up, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's Halloween night," she replied dryly.

"Is it?" he asked.

"You didn't know?"

"I find that I'm never quite sure when exactly I arrive," he replied evasively.

She closed her eyes with a long suffering sigh.

"Tired, are we?"

"Shut up," she snapped. "Now I asked you a question, and I expect an answer. What is your name?"

"Shhh. We're in a library," he whispered. "You can call me the Doctor."

"Doctor who?"

"The Doctor will do for now," he replied.

"Fine!" You're all the bloody Doctor!" she spat, muttering under breath, as she scrawled messily in her notebook.

"Seems I've struck a chord. Tell me, have you heard anything out of the ordinary this evening? Moaning, shrieking, clawing at the windows?"

"I'll be the one asking the questions, thanks," she countered.

He folded his hands neatly in front of him on the table. "I'm terribly sorry. Go on."

She took a deep cleansing breath before continuing. "Now, do you know why you're here?"

He smiled mysteriously. "You mean besides your gracious invitation?" He held up his cuffed hands.

She blew a lock of hair out of her face, and sank back in her chair. "Yes, besides that," she sighed.

"Then you must be referring to the murder," he replied.

She sat up, suddenly revived. "Is that a confession?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied airily.

"Then how could you possibly know that—"

"Answer my question first, Prime."

"Factor," she corrected.

"Yes, I'm aware. I was referring to the fact that you're on your own. Not a perfect metaphor. You are the product of yourself and one, obviously. Speaking of that, where is your partner? Police, like prime factorization, work in pairs I'm told," he pressed.

She scrubbed her hands over her face. "I don't have time for this. Did you or did you not commit murder this evening?" She slammed a fist into the table top.

"Have you, or have you not heard anything out of the ordinary?" He leaned across the table meeting her dead in the eye.

She blinked. "Like what?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"The howling of the wind?" He grinned dangerously.

"How is that out of the ordinary?"

He relaxed suddenly into his chair. "It's said that the true blood families of Ireland each have a watcher, a supernatural mourner, a harbinger of death, if you will."

She buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God. We're not in Ireland."

"Yes, I'd gathered as much," he replied.

"Stop wasting my time!"

He grinned.

"This isn't a game! A man is dead!"

"I know. It's in your best interest to listen to me, Factor. I may be the only one here who can help. It just so happens, I caught a glimpse of the perpetrator."

"You what?"

"And it is this information that you claim wastes time," he spat, "which may be the key to unlocking the truth."

Detective Factor turned back toward the Library door. "I came in here because no one was supposed to be in this room, you know. I'm not entirely sure HOW you got in here, what with all of the police officers crawling all over this place. Look, I'm a witch. I'm always a witch. I was a witch yesterday, and I'll be a witch tomorrow, despite the holiday, not because of it. However, I have never in my life seen anything truly supernatural." She had a wistful, sad sort of look that softened her thin, severe features, however briefly. "Believe me, I've looked."

"I never said it was supernatural," replied the small man. "Clarke's Law, Detective. Do you know it?"

"Any technology, sufficiently advanced... Oh, for God's sake, just come on. I need to take you down for questioning. While we walk maybe you can tell me: what are you doing in the Haunted House?"

"I followed the white rabbit," he replied easily.

"Don't tell me you're trying for an insanity plea after all that 'primary factor' malarkey," she sighed.

"Have you ever heard anything, detective, that instantly freezes your blood in its tracks?"

"I've seen things that have done: headless, limbless corpse. Ringing any bells?"

"When I first arrived, quite by accident, I assure you, I was met with such a sound. At first I attributed it to the howling of the wind, until I realized that the night air was quite still."

"And, do you suppose, Doctor, that this howling, might be associated with the God-awful Halloween soundtrack being blared out of every speaker in this carnival fun house?" she countered.

"This corpse of yours, does it have a name?" he asked conversationally.

"Master," she replied on a sigh, brushing a fake cobweb from her hair. A slow grin lit the small man's features, but it was far from friendly. "Friend of yours?" she pressed.

"Not at all," he replied dismissively. "Quite the opposite, these days."

"You do realize that you've just supplied me with a motive," Detective Factor dropped.

"May I see him?" the Doctor asked.

Detective Factor wanted to bang her head on something. "He's at the morgue, the morgue, I might add, which is not here. He's been autopsied. He matches his DNA. What I do not know whether he matches is Ian Master's DNA, due to the fact that I can't find the smallest sample of something plausibly belonging solely to Mr. Ian Master."

"No, he'd've made sure of that," the Doctor mused thoughtfully.

"For a noted philanthropist and general all around helpful, friendly guy, Master sure has a lot of enemies in your profession." Factor frowned. "Look, if you'll leave off with the banshee nonsense, I'll admit I slapped the cuffs on you because you scared the bejeezus out of me, and let you loose. If you killed the guy, you'd be painted red and there isn't a drop on you."

"No. There isn't…" The little man frowned.

"Is that a problem?" Factor asked, eyebrows raised.

"Perhaps…" he mused. "Oh, you might want these," he said, pressing something into Factor's palm.

She blinked down at her handcuffs. She opened her mouth, thought better of it, and sighed. "Thanks. If you'll just follow me, erm, Doctor, I'll have a..."

A uniformed officer stuck his head in the library door. "Detective! You've got to see this!"

No, thought Detective Factor. At this point the only I _have_ to see is the inside of my eyelids, and that only if I blink. Everything else is optional. "Oh, something interesting?"

"Yeah, it's... oh my God, you wouldn't believe..."

"Tell me it's not yet another Doctor," Factor suggested. She probably sounded threatening, because the officer backed away from her, his face slightly pale.

"Well..." He blinked. "I didn't think to ask. Do you want me to..."

She bit back the urge to scream. Where the hell were they all coming from? She thought the place had been cleared within an hour of finding the body! "No, no, um, Evans," she read off his name tag. "Just escort Dr. erm... Smith here down the hall and get his details, please."

Evans grinned, a youthful, cheery, enthusiastic grin that didn't usually survive the first year at the Academy. Wonders never ceased. "Thank you, Doctor," she said dryly. "It's been fun."

The little man presented her with a bunch of flowers pulled from thin air and, with a grin that wouldn't quit, tipped his hat.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	8. Doctorpedia

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: Not mine! Not mine! Not mine! ... But could I have it, please?

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 8: Doctor-pedia_**

_Starring: The Tenth Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

The Doctor was inspecting the blotter on the desk in front of him, and really wishing for something to rinse his mouth out with. It was his own fault, he supposed, that he had such a nasty taste in his mouth, but what else was one meant to do when one found one's name inscribed on a wall in foot high letters but find out what the letters were made of? He dug through his pockets looking for something, anything, to deal with the spoiled iron tang.

A small woman with white hair and a black forelock sauntered into the cubicle as if she owned the place. As she was dressed like the common view of a wicked witch, all black clothes and pointy edges, the Doctor had to guess that she possibly did. He wanted to start to his feet to be polite, but she had a decidedly gun-carrying look about her, and the Doctor didn't want to antagonize her, not yet.

"I'm Detective Factor," she introduced, as if she'd already said it thirty times in the last three hours and was considering changing it to Scheherazade for variety's sake. "I'll need to know your name, and what you're doing in the middle of a sealed crime scene, please, sir." The Doctor had the distinct feeling that he was being scrutinized carefully for all that the woman was giving the impression of not being evenly remotely interested in him.

He grinned at the woman before him, resisting the urge to kick his feet. "The Doctor," he said grandly, "just the Doctor." He pondered the second part of her question a moment before saying, "Well, I assume the TARDIS decided to take a little detour. She does enjoy taking me to the wrong place. Always right into the thick of things. Actually though, I think it might have something to do with my driving. I never really did get the hang of it. Oh well, I suppose I do well enough. But no, I don't really know why I'm here."

"Do you have any idea how many 'the Doctors' there are?" The white haired witch asked her question as if it was quite painful. "I didn't either," she leaped in to answer, before the Doctor could begin, "at least not until tonight." The woman rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands, then looked up, her dark mascara smearing her eyes even blacker than they had been. "Just, please. Tell me who this Tardis is, and if I can possibly question her about your alibi?"

The Doctor blinked at the woman before a huge smile broke out on his face. "You can ask her if you like, but I doubt she'll answer. She's my ship, you see, though she's a very smart, albeit, old, one. TARDIS isn't a name for anyone, it's an abbreviated title. Stands for Time and Relative Dimension(s) in Space. It's all quite amazing and complicated, really." The beginning of the woman's question replayed in his mind and the Doctor furrowed his brows a little. "And what do you mean, how many Doctors are there? There's just me!"

The Detective shook her head. "Of all the amazing arrogance - and I have seen some prime examples today - I have got to tell you that that sentence was the absolute top." She grinned though, as if she'd gone past frustrated and come to some sort of amusement with whatever was going on. The Doctor was going to ask about that, too, but the woman just kept right on talking. It was annoying, really.

"My friend," she said, "_Doctor_ Guessom, found that secret room in which we also found you, but she found it much earlier this evening." There was a mutter of "feels like years" that the Doctor suspected he wasn't meant to hear before the woman carried on with, "When she found it, there was a dead body in it. Do you know anything about that dead body by chance?" The Detective's black painted smile widened. "Oh, and for the record, the corpse belongs to an unidentifiable individual who may or may not be a local philanthropist. So, go on, tell me everything!"

The Doctor admitted, albeit mentally, that what he had said could come across as arrogant. Oh well, to each his own.

"Everything, you say?" The Doctor asked with a grin before carrying on without giving the woman a chance to reply. The Detective showed a flash of annoyance but didn't interrupt. "Well, everything could take a while. Basically, a philanthropist is someone who practices philanthropy, which is the effort to increase the well being of humankind. I've sometimes been compared to a philanthropist, though I disagree, personally. there are four relatively authoritative definitions of "philanthropy" that come close to the classical concept: John W. Gardner's 'private initiatives for the public good'; Robert Payton's 'voluntary action for the public good'; Lester Salamon's 'the private giving of time or valuables…for public purposes' and Robert Bremner's 'the aim of philanthropy…is improvement in the quality of human life'. Combining these to connect modern philanthropy with its entire previous history, 'philanthropy' may best be defined as, 'private initiatives for public good, focusing on quality of life.'" The Doctor sucked in a breath before ploughing on, "Now, this distinguishes it from government - public initiatives for public good - and business - private initiatives for private good. Omitting the definite article 'the' with 'public good' avoids the dubious assumption that there is ever a single, knowable public good, and in any case people rarely, if ever agree on what that might be; rather, this definition merely says that the benefactor intends a 'public' rather than an exclusively 'private' good or benefit. The inclusion of 'quality of life' ensures the strong humanistic emphasis of the Promethean archetype."

The Doctor leaned back in the chair and rummaged in his coat pocket. Much to his relief he finally found something useful for the taste. Pulling out a bag of jelly babies and popping one in his mouth, he smiled. He offered the Detective one, but she declined, looking a little overloaded.

"I do love jelly babies," he informed Detective Factor, "Especially the red ones. They're my favourite."

The Doctor peered intently at the woman before him before saying casually, "And no, I don't know anything about a dead body. It's funny," the Doctor mused, "But there always seems to be something not quite normal. You know, you never did tell me who this dead man might be. I'm right in assuming he's a man, aren't I? And why can't you identify him?"

Detective Factor's mouth was hanging open, and her eyebrows were hanging from the rafters. "Oh, wow," she pronounced. "Just... wow." She grinned. "So, do you write for Wikipedia?" Her oddly colored eyes danced, and she waved away his answer again - she had a very annoying habit of doing that - beaming as she jumped to the next question. "Never mind, you can tell me later. The house, which I have not found to truly be haunted, belongs to a Mr. Ian T. Master, who is, as I've said, a known philanthropist. He is also a very hard to locate person because, apart from the clothes the corpse was wearing, which I have been assured are his, I can find nothing which I can prove belonged to him. He is also currently without important identifying features, fingerprints and whatnot."

The Doctor in the suit gave a thoughtful expression. "Did he have a wife? Or a sort of rubbish beard?"

The Detective smiled. "Well, his next of kin is.. well, not a useful name. So I'm going to guess no on the wife? As to the beard... well, it's hard to say, as I've never met the man, and the body is decidedly missing his head, along with his hands, actually... I have had this conversation a little too often tonight. It's getting boring. So tell me, Doctor, do you know Mr. Master? Because he knows someone called 'The Doctor'."

The Doctor gave the Detective a secretive smile and exclaimed, "If he's who I think he is, which he probably is, since it's not all that often I'm wrong about these things, though there was that one time -"

The Detective politely cleared her throat before the Doctor could continue on. "Do you know him or not?" she enquired.

The Doctor nodded with a slight smile, "I do believe so, but as I said, I can't be sure." The Doctor leaned forward in his chair, peering intently at the witch before him. "Are you absolutely sure he's dead?"

The Detective arched an eyebrow. "He hasn't got a head," she deadpanned, "so yes, I'm absolutely sure."

The Doctor hummed and leaned back in his chair once more, staring at a spot above Detective Factor's shoulder.

"Apart from the fact that he's headless and handless, is there anything else... odd about the body?"

The Detective gave a wide, wondering smile. "Who the hell is this guy?" she exclaimed. "He's supposed to be sooo wonderful, but for some reason, everyone I talk to seems to... do you know you're not even the first person today to tell me you're sure he's not dead?" She shrugged. "I have this ridiculously bad photo of him. Can you see if you recognize him from the photo?"

She handed the Doctor the blurry polaroid. He blinked at it briefly, then poked at his pocket, reaching for his spectacles. Slipping them on his nose, he reached for the photo.

"Those are identical to these, I think," Detective Factor said, holding up a small plastic bag with a pair of spectacles tucked neatly away inside of it. "Care to try to explain that?"

The Doctor briefly glanced at the spectacles in the plastic bag before returning to the blurry photograph in front of him.

"They are quite common, prescription glasses," the Doctor murmured, reaching out to snatch the photo but the Detective moved her hand before he could grab it. The Doctor frowned before leaning forward to get a closer look. "They're mass produced, I believe, so the fact they are the same is merely a coincidence."

The photograph was far too blurry for even his advanced eyes to make out. The Doctor sighed and rubbed at his eyes under the glasses. His urge to lick something again was increasing, and he wondered how long it would be before licking became a necessity.

"How strange," the Doctor muttered to himself as he took another glance at the photo. The more he looked at it, the more it seemed that the scenery got less blurry the further away from the man it was. "How very strange indeed."

The Detective hung her head. "Thank you for that assessment, Doctor," she said. "And now, since we've covered that you might know Mr. Master, but cannot tell, why don't we get back to how you got here. Because I'm still more than a little confused about this Time and Relative Dimensions in Space thing. It sounds familiar, I suppose, but..."

A young man appeared at the edge of the cubicle, one in a proper uniform this time, dark blue, with a shiny silver name tag that proclaimed him to be Maynard. The oddly dressed detective rounded on him, her oddly colored eyes blazing (and eerie, if he was honest).

"Someone had better be dead!" she exclaimed.

"Well..." the Doctor started to point out that she had him here because of a dead body, remember.

She turned and shook her head. "Not you," she said, and she almost sounded surprisingly apologetic. "I'm very sorry, Doctor," she continued in a very calm and conciliatory tone, "it's almost as if someone didn't want me to investigate this homicide. Every time I get close to something important, something else happens."

"Odd," the Doctor allowed, his thoughts quickly turning elsewhere.

"What is it, Maynard?" the Detective asked the other officer in a tone that suggested he had better make it good. "Is somebody dead?"

The officer looked decidedly nervous, but nodded very reluctantly and said, "Funny you should mention that..."

They walked off together, but the Doctor was already pondering.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	9. Yet Another

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: :(

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 9: Yet Another_**

_Starring: The Eighth Doctor and Det. Factor_

_

* * *

_

Detective Factor strode down the hall after Officer Maynard, strongly wishing she had thought to bring more sensible shoes. "What've you found that couldn't wait five minutes?" she demanded.

"It's the office manager, Detective," Maynard explained, still heading for the door at nearly top speed. "Found a copy of his file, right, I'll show you where, it's just down here, and I was about to send Evans out to bring him in. Thing is, there's a missing persons on him, and..."

"Please tell me you didn't send Evans to tell some poor woman her husband might be dead and decapitated?"

"No!" Maynard defended. "I wouldn't, it'd be bad for the kid, considering the family. No wife, but we get called out to their place about once a month, because the old lady's always going on about her doll collection?"

Factor's eyes widened and she nodded. "Oh, that place. Are you sure?"

Maynard was insistent, rattling off the address and nodding vigorously, his eyes begging her not to make him do the notification. "Hold off on it," Factor decided. "I need to speak to Dr. Guessom before we make any notifications to anyone."

She'd meant to call Gayle over an hour ago to get follow up and find out if she had anything from CODIS. Everything kept getting in the way. If she had known this night was going to be remotely like this, Detective Factor was sure she'd've asked her friend to stay home tonight.

But she couldn't see the future, and she had yet to meet anyone who could. Oh, she had a few ideas about the future. For example, before the night was over, they would probably have to chase her down with a butterfly net if she didn't keep tripping over...

She almost ran headlong into the beautiful man in the green fairy tale garb, just because he was charging out of an open doorway and into the hallway. Neither had been looking where they were going, and it was only at the last second that they avoided each other. Maynard, who had been out of the direct path, stood watching them like they were some sort of circus act while they both twisted and bent and tried to avoid a spill.

In the end they both tumbled up against opposite walls, eyeing each other warily. "Susan Sto Helit?" the man in green guessed.

Factor tried to piece together the man's outfit and considered the night she had had. With what she thought was rather cool aplomb she suggested, "Another Doc Holiday?"

* * *

Factor once again had the tape recorder, and was getting situated in yet another cubicle, watching yet another man who looked quite comfortable in yet another bizarre outfit study her as if she were an alien from outer space. If this wasn't Halloween, she would really start to wonder about the whole space thing. There were supposed to be rules about that, but who knew these days? She turned on the recorder with a shrug, did her speech without mumbling (though she very much wanted to do), and tried to fake yet another smile. "So, we'll have you say your name again for the record. Then, I'd like you to tell me why you're here, and we can work from there," she said brightly.

The man in the fawn leggings straightened the lacy sleeve peeking from beneath his velvet jacket. He had a bored expression that implied he had been through much more harrowing circumstances than being a suspected killer. Being killed, for instance. "I didn't say what my name is; I rarely do, but if you must call me something, I am frequently referred to as the Doctor." He shifted uncomfortably, a light blush staining his fair cheeks. "As for why I'm here," he continued. "When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much, they choose the best of their genes and genetically engineer an offspring. At least that's how the fashionable set does things. I've often wondered if my parents, whoever they may be, didn't engage in a more... traditional means of procreation."

"I... see." Detective Factor rubbed at her already smeared eyes, getting yet more of her heavy, dark eye makeup into places it didn't particularly belong. "I'm just going to come right out and say this... erm... Doctor. Are you smoking crack?"

The Doctor cocked his head in much the same way as a collie investigates a fan. His curls fell, fetchingly. After a moment's consideration, the Doctor spoke. "Not that I'm aware, and I tend to be more aware than most," he determined.

"It has been a very long day," Detective Factor said softly. "Given the sheer volume of doctors I'm being gifted with tonight, it's obvious I've neglected my apples." She smiled an oddly pointy smile. "I've gotten philosophical discussions in answer to the 'why are we here' before, you know, but usually only from people we have to fit for jackets with handles. I have to admit it's creative." She pulled out a notebook. "You seem lucid enough."

"Oh, I am," the Doctor assured her, studying the tired, made-up and smeared face. "You, however..."

"Don't worry about me," Factor said, and she sounded like she was pleading more than anything else. "Just, listen." She read off the notebook what had obviously become well-rehearsed. "This evening at approximately eight-thirty p.m., an unidentified body was found decapitated and mildly mutilated at the Haunted House charity event hosted by the noted philanthropist Ian T. Master. The deceased was wearing Mr. Master's clothing, but identity could not be confirmed as Mr. Master's. Multiple sources of information suggest that it may not be Mr. Master. Some, indeed most of our records of Mr. Master would appear to be bogus. It is suspected, however, that Mr. Master is associated to a gentleman known as 'the Doctor'." She looked up from the notebook. "So," she said, eyes once more attentive. "What do you think?"

"I think I'm glad I'm not you," the Doctor told her sympathetically. It was clear to him that the woman in front of him was having a particularly tough time. He watched her for a second, but didn't seem to be looking at her. "And how is Ms. Guessom coming along?"

The woman's eyes narrowed briefly, and then her face relaxed completely. "It's Doctor Guessom," she corrected lightly, "as I promise you she would insist on reminding you." Her eyes twinkled. "She's not quite as frustrated as I am, I'm sure. I was supposed to call her with an update, but things do keep happening, and I've only a little choice what I do about it."

"Because?" the Doctor invited.

"On duty, in trouble with my chief, and curious. Where did we meet, Doctor? Or do you just know Gayle?"

"Oh, I'm sure I know it from somewhere," he told her in a reassuring voice that tried to hide that he said it rather than her or you. "I do tend to get around." He looked at her pointedly. "As do you, I believe."

Factor tried not to flinch under the weight of that strangely certain gaze. She resorted to her training - they're in the box, not you - and said, "Speaking of getting around, Doctor, you seem to have gotten around a crime scene. So, let's pretend we're both sure where anyone at all comes from and be much more specific this time. What are you, sir, doing at the scene of the murder of Mr. Ian Master (or whomever that dead body might be)?"

"Oh, I never intended to come here," he told her amicably. "Still getting my bearings, and sometimes my vehicle and I don't see eye to eye. I was trying to get to my friend, the Brigadier's, house. I suppose that his massive home got mixed up with this one, somehow." A pensive expression clouded over his face. "It's possible he called me here."

Factor stared. "He... who?" she murmured. There was something magic in his tone, demanding that she ignore him and go bother someone else while he puzzled this wonder out. She had had training against that, too. "The Brigadier? Mr. Master? The missing Office Manager whom I've not yet mentioned? My chief, possibly? Doctor, I need a little help here. I'm trying to be reasonable and put you down as cooperative. Lets skip how you got here, and move on to how you know Mr. Master. Friends - or enemies apparently - for awhile, were you?"

"Oh, I've known him for ages. Went to school with him. He wasn't always like this." The Doctor frowned regretfully. "Anyway, we haven't really kept in touch recently. He turned out to be a bit of a bad egg. But we have run into each other on occasion. No matter what they say, the universe is actually a rather large place, it just happens that Brownian motion propels us towards intersections."

"Let's pretend that you didn't just blame particle physics for a bad relationship, shall we?" Factor offered. She couldn't help the grin. She could just imagine lawyers trying the 'Brownian Motion' defense. "What do you mean, exactly, by 'wasn't like this'? I have it here that Mr. Master has raised staggering sums for the hospital, the school, and the local police and fire departments. I admit I'm probably biased, obviously, but is there something wrong with conducting fundraisers?"

"I expect it probably looks very nice on paperwork, but it is quite difficult to describe his more personal affairs. Nor is it my place. He always was practically mesmerizing."

Factor sat forward in her seat, abruptly fascinated. Just how persuasive did a man have to be, then, to...

Her mobile shrilled out the chords she was very truly coming to hate. The Doctor across from her hummed the next bar while Factor flipped open the phone. "We're sorry, the Detective you have reached is not in service at this time. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and call someone who cares..."

"It's an error message!" said the voice on the other end of the line, and hung up.

Factor wanted to bang her head against the wall. That wasn't who was supposed to be calling her from Gayle Guessom's cell phone. Dr. Manor, after all, had absolutely no idea what all was going on here, she was sure of it. Factor looked up at the Doctor. "I need to go return this call," she apologized, though really, it might be nice to get a breather from that intense green gaze, anyway. "I'll try to be right back."

"Time will conspire," the Doctor said in the most knowledgeable tone he had used all night. It was truly eerie, considering how weird he had been before this. "And tonight even more so. Good luck."

"Thank you," Factor said, sincerely appreciating it.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	10. Arrested Development

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: We have the right to remain silent. Having given up the right to remain silent, we still do not have the rights to Doctor Who.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 10: Arrested Development_**

_Starring: The Eleventh Doctor, Det. Factor and Dr. Guessom_

* * *

Detective Factor made a beeline for the privacy of the library, wondering idly how the uniforms were doing with keeping all the other Doctors in something that resembled one place. She thought she would probably try to check in on a few of them, but first, there was this vitally important, too often interrupted call to Dr. Guessom that she absolutely could not put off one...

"Detective!"

It was Evans. Poor kid, he looked like he had just seen a basilisk. Of course, under the circumstances, Factor supposed she probably was beginning to resemble one. "What is it?" she asked, in the closest approximation of 'gentle' she could manage at the moment. She wanted to demand to know what could possibly be so damned important this time.

"They've arrested someone, Detective!" Evans exclaimed excitedly. "I mean - they've found someone and they're pretty sure they should arrest him. He's covered in goo and everything."

Factor looked at the wall for a long moment, wondering idly why it was starting to look like it had a target on it. The young policeman called her name, tentatively, like he knew he would get another basilisk glare. "Yes, of course, Officer," she said. "Lead the way."

* * *

The suspect in the chair straightened his bowtie, grinned brilliantly, and held a hand out, all regardless of the handcuffs. "Hello, I'm the Doctor! And you?"

The woman in front of him gave him a rather dry glare, and ignored the proffered hand. "Detective Factor."

"Hello, Detective Factor." The doctor dropped his hands back into his lap but kept the grin. "Excuse me," His head tilted to the side in slight confusion. "Is today Halloween? I don't think detectives wear costumes otherwise. At least, British detectives don't. I'm not so sure about American ones. This _is_ America, right? I just tend to drop into places and learn where I am on the go."

Detective Factor blinked. "So... you have no idea why you're here."

"Nope! Not a one! Though... it might have something to do with the previously dead attempting to rise out of the graveyard I landed in."

"Landed... in?"

"Mmhmm!" He nodded. "My TARDIS! You know, I really ought to do something about the - to put it in words you'll get - zombies coming out of the graveyard. So if you'll just unlock my handcuffs I'll be on my way."

"Ah, another TARDIS," said the Detective. She sounded very knowledgeable and certain, and the Doctor considered her with narrowed eyes while she considered him right back. "Like the bowtie," she decided.

"Thank you?" the Doctor offered, and waggled his cuffs once again.

"My chief told me to arrest somebody, you know," she said lazily.

"I'm nobody!" the Doctor insisted.

"No, you're not. You're the Doctor." She smiled a playful, black lipped smile. "Everybody's the Doctor tonight," she explained. "And I have a dead body that won't rise from the dead. Do you know anything about that sort of body?"

"Maybe. Tell me more about this dead body." The Doctor crossed his legs and put his hands on his knees, like the handcuffs weren't even there.

Detective Factor sighed, and her shoulders slumped a little. She'd said these facts to so many people, quite a few of them "The Doctor", and it was just getting repetitive. "His name is Ian Master, we found him headless and handless, with 'The Doctor' painted in blood on the wall next to him. What do you know?"

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "The only Master I know died a while ago. I don't know this one."

Detective Factor got very wide-eyed. "Well, this is new," she admitted. "I have absolutely no idea what to say about it." She paused for a moment. "I don't suppose the Mr. Master you knew had kids?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I hope not?" he offered. "No, I'd say he didn't."

"OK." Detective Factor seemed to be looking around her person in some confusion. She looked up sheepishly and met the Doctor's eyes. "I had a photo of him. It was bad, but I had it." She shrugged. "I found a bowtie exactly like the one you're wearing in the dead body's pocket. I should have that to show you as well. He's had several effects matching several of the men I've spoken to today." She stood up and took a couple steps away. "I have some reason to suspect that this individual may not be entirely trustworthy, sir. Could you describe the Master you knew?"

"A friend, an ally, an enemy... it all depended on the situation." He shrugged. "The last time I saw him he was a friend. A misguided one, but a friend."

Detective Factor was looking at him with a flat expression.

"Ooooh, you're looking for a physical description! Sorry. Dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, about five foot ten, five eleven. That help?"

"Well, that doesn't describe our Master, at least. But, what is this stuff all over you?" Factor leaned over a wiped a finger down the red smear on the Doctor's tweed jacket. She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together and shivered as the liquid was more sticky than liquid.

"I told you. There are zombies in the graveyard. I had to wrestle with one to get away, and I got arrested when a couple of officers saw that I had blood all over me, thinking I was the murderer. I mean, really, do I look like someone who would kill someone and then cut off their head and hands?" He gave Detective Factor the most disarming, innocent look he could muster. It worked.

Factor chuckled. "I suppose I should let you go now? Let you go... handle your zombies, perhaps?" She shook her head. "I do not believe you committed this murder, sir. I'm beginning to suspect I'm not looking at the sort of case I thought I was when I was brought here. The problem is, the Chief expected me to arrest someone. However, I can't very well arrest a guy with no name and no ID, can I?" She smiled. "I've got to send for a doctor anyway. Is it all right with you if I have her look you over?"

The Doctor frowned slightly. "I'd rather not, thanks. And who said I didn't have an ID?"

Detective Factor furrowed her brows. "Your wallet didn't have anything in it when we searched through it."

"You just weren't looking at it correctly. May I?"

Factor handed over the wallet and Doctor flipped a section open to her. She blinked. "Doctor, that's a blank piece of paper."

"It is? Well, that's different."

Detective Factor stepped back toward the opening again. "I think it might be best if I have that doctor look at you, Doctor. You might've been injured or something, after all. Zombies, I've heard, can be quite vicious. But before I go make that call, can I ask you a question about this TARDIS of yours?"

"Yes Detective?" the Doctor offered, sounding polite and helpful and just entirely too nice to be involved in anything so grisly as a murder.

"Where is it?" she asked. "Would I know it if I saw it?"

The Doctor hedged. "You haven't been introduced?" he suggested.

"Yes but..." The sounds of something that the Doctor was absolutely certain was Phantom of the Opera rang out over the room. "Oh, for the love of..." The Detective complained, and then her eyes got huge. "I completely forgot! I'm supposed to be..."

"You know, I was here for the revival in forty-six. It was a whole new production, a whole new era for Broadway altogether." Smiling gently he confided, "It was awful."

Detective Factor stared at him as if he was from another planet (which he would neither confirm nor deny), then shook her head. "I am so sorry, Doctor. I have a phone call I am supposed to have made an hour ago. It's been an interesting night. Can I have the sergeant get you anything before I go?"

"Yes, actually." The Doctor listed the items off his fingers. "Some bleach, a water gun, and a bucket of water. I still need to take those zombies out." He gestured, "And I suggest cleaning off your fingers right away. Don't need you becoming a zombie too."

"Ooookay." Detective Factor raised an eyebrow and looked at her fingers. "Will do. Maynard!" Factor called.

"Yes, sir?" The police sergeant stuck his head up over the top of the cubicle wall, peering down at the top of the Detective's head and trying not to look like he enjoyed it. The Doctor was pretty sure he did, however.

"Please escort the Doctor to the restroom," she said. Looking very much like she couldn't believe a word she was saying, she continued with, "Help him find what he needs, please. And do NOT take a sample of the liquid he's wearing."

"Already have one," the sergeant said blithely.

"Tell me it's still here!" she ordered.

"Well, yeah," Maynard allowed.

"Let him handle it. I'm calling Dr. Guessom."

"'K, sir," the sergeant agreed.

The Doctor gave the Detective a sunny smile. "You're interesting," he said. "But do you think you might take off the cuffs?"

Factor gave him an impish smile. "I might," she agreed, "but I wager I don't have to."

* * *

Dr. Guessom re-read the CODIS data, beginning her search for more updated information to relay to her roommate. It was definitely a match, and it was definitely not the mysterious Mr. Master. But whether the ID would provide any answers or only more questions was yet to be determined.

"It's an error message!" Dr. Manor shouted in surprise from behind her. Gayle flinched at the overenthusiastic voice. She supposed she could blame the fact that he had only been on shift for a few hours, whereas she was rapidly reaching another mandatory caffeine replenishment point.

Gayle spun her chair away from the computer, stretching out a hand to retrieve her phone as Manor snapped it shut. "What button did you push?" she asked. Speed dial was supposed to be simple, she thought.

"Two and talk," he answered, handing it over.

Gayle checked the call history to verify the number. The display read "Factor R". She tossed the phone back to Manor. "Give it five minutes," she instructed, turning back to the computer. "If she doesn't call back by then, just try again."

After several more minutes of fruitless searches, Gayle finally hit upon the page she was looking for. But before she had a chance to glean their DB's current info, Manor broke in again. "I've got her this time!" he announced cheerfully.

Gayle turned to see him pull the phone from his ear with a sudden grimace. "Give it here, thanks," she told him sympathetically.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	11. Going on from There

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: The entire month of November was taken up with some extensive wrangling, fretting, arguing, losing, finding, filing, refiling, debating, and positive reams of paperwork. Then, we find out that the guy asking for this paperwork is some shyster called "Het Asterm", and not really going to get us the ownership of Doctor Who at all. Thus we come to you, battered but unbowed, with a new chapter, and still without owning the Doctor.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 11: Going On From There_**

_Starring: Det. Factor and Dr. Guessom_

* * *

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to call someone in this town?" asked the voice on the line, the cheer so obviously fake it was brittle.

"After tonight, yes I do," Gayle replied, trying not to sound as put off as she felt.

"I'm sorry," Factor apologized. "It's insane here. Every single time I went to call you, someone else turned up, claiming to be a doctor..."

"As in 'The Doctor'?" Gayle asked.

"I've asked," Factor admitted. "Most of them sort of deny it... kind of... It's really complicated."

"I did ask," Gayle offered, feeling much more magnanimous toward her friend now that she knew she wasn't being deliberately snubbed. "Tell me everything."

"I said that, tonight," Factor mentioned, her tone utterly exasperated. "It may be the last sane words I uttered."

Now, the curiosity was going to kill her. "Tell me," Gayle demanded.

"You'll be sorry!" Factor sing-songed, punctuating it with that strange over-stressed giggle she only ever gave when things got too crazy. Gayle had heard it twice in their entire lives, once when seventy-five impossible things had all happened simultaneously, and once when Factor was working simultaneously on seven ten-page papers for unrelated subjects (and couldn't go out with Gayle to a party that neither girl actually wanted to attend).

"Go on, you know you want to," Gayle coaxed, almost grinning, now.

"Right. You asked for it."

"I did," Gayle agreed.

"When they're fitting you for a straight jacket..."

"Dammit, Factor, _tell me_!"

"We have to go back, then. Hang on." There was the sound of a door being bolted, and Gayle wondered if it meant the Detective had just locked herself into the women's bathroom. She rather thought it might. "OK, when I talked to you before, I mentioned the one guy, right? The one in the rainbow suit?"

"The clown, yeah…"

"Well, he wasn't the first guy. The first guy was this white-haired gentleman in an opera cape. I wish I was kidding, but it actually suits the guy. He was mad as hell at me, at us, at everything, and I may have made that worse by poking at him a bit. I mean, honestly, who the hell expects to be asked the year, anyway?"

"The _year_?"

"The year. I thought the guy was a leftover from your party, but he wasn't on the list or anywhere else. Then, get this, I mention the body and he not only calms down, he asks to see the corpse, and accuses said corpse of being behind... well, you got me, now that I think about it. I'd better make a note to ask him. And no, he hasn't left yet; last I heard, he was wandering around the place looking for locks that hadn't been picked yet.

"Oh, and the great big blond guy in the stolen rainbow suit, he was pissed off, too. Probably because I said several very inappropriate things about that coat of his. I can't help it! You can _see_ the _damn thing_ from _space_! He didn't seem to have any idea when he was, either. Made a few suspicious comments, we hurled questions and our vocabularies at each other, he tried to pretend like it being Halloween was soooo important, and then I told him who was dead. Apparently, he also believed Mr. Master to be very interesting -"

"Oh, actually -" Gayle started, hoping to relieve some of her friend's worry. She had just heard what was unmistakably the sound of the clip being removed from Factor's gun.

Factor just talked right over her, sounding completely oblivious to anyone else now that she'd gotten started. "- and then asked me something that sounded like he expected this man to be from outer space or something if he was actually Mr. Master."

"Outer space?" Gayle decided to let the need to pass on the facts of the matter go for the moment. It was only very rarely that Factor ever needed to vent, but Gayle was not going to deny her now that it had finally happened.

"Or something. So far, he's the most suspicious of the lot - not as the murderer, though. Something else."

"You're suspicious of his not-murdering activities?" Gayle asked, genuinely baffled, but realizing almost immediately that it probably sounded like sarcasm in Factor's current state of mind.

"I'm suspicious of his tailor," Factor complained.

"Who wouldn't be?" Gayle said agreeably. "So come on, what happened then?"

"Okay, so you called right after that guy. Then, there was another pissed-off guy. I know, I'm a detective, I'm not supposed to make people like me, but it's really annoying when everyone you need to talk to has to be talked down before you can get through to them. Anyway. This guy was... damn, I dunno. He was like Mr. Tinkerly, that tutor you had growing up?"

"Oh, no. Seriously?" Mr. Tinkerly had been the first person to make Gayle wonder if there really were aliens, or time travelers, at least, because he was impossible in the modern world.

"All arrogant and so polite it made your teeth itch - alright - _my_ teeth itch. I expected him to whip out a neat little primer any second. Anyway, _he_ actually knows someone called Ian, and someone called Master, but apparently they're two different people, and the latter is not to be trusted. He was shiftier than the first two, and when I actually confronted him with something really weird that he'd said, he started explaining our laws to me. He's British - I'm sure their laws are different. Oh, and I scared a rookie."

"Wha - ?"

"Couldn't be helped," Factor claimed breezily, as if it was completely irrelevant. Gayle knew she'd have to pry this story out sooner or later. "So then, the chief called. He got my name wronger than usual. And accused you of being a boy, this time."

"'Kay…"

"I still think it's an improvement over the time he thought you were his sister. He ordered me to arrest somebody, and he didn't seem to be too fussed about who I arrested for this."

Gayle snorted. "You should arrest his sister," she suggested dryly.

"Don't tempt me," Factor agreed playfully. "So, I get off the phone with the chief, I'm about to think about giving up my morals and hexing the man, when this guy just appears. He wasn't there, I swear he wasn't, and then he was, just walked out from behind a bookshelf. I'm already in a foul mood, and there's a dead body, of course, so I had the cuffs on him like... well something ridiculously fast, I'm too tired to be creative. He has the scariest eyes. I know, I know, they're perfectly normal, just exceptionally blue, but... damn. He starts arguing with me about the existential nature of coincidences and the mathematics of my name, and also whether or not I believed in the _beann sidhe_ and whether or not he or I had heard it.

"Tell me you didn't just say 'banshee'."

"No, that's exactly what I said. He didn't, though. He went on about Clarke's Law and attributed the murder to the being or beings impersonating the howling critter. Then, I mentioned the dear departed's name, and suddenly it wasn't a perfectly natural supernatural creature any more, it was in fact Mr. Master's own doing that got him in this state. I happened to mention that for a guy who builds hospitals, doctors don't seem to get on with him, and was _about _to get to the bottom of it when I got interrupted by - you guessed it - _another damn Doctor_!"

"That's, what, four? Five? How many Doctors have you got over there?"

"Seven. So far. But I had the uniforms take the little magician down –"

"Thought he was a Doctor."

"He got out of my cuffs and conjured flowers, what else should I call him? The really weird thing - and if you tell a living soul I said this, I will deny it with my last breath - I was already starting to believe the guy. He's just... convincing or something?"

Gayle started and said absolutely nothing. There was no way she could say anything that wouldn't make Factor nervous or upset at this point. The woman adored chaos, thrived in it, and the more wild the scene, the better, up to a point. She was also a witch and believed in the supernatural or something like it – but she didn't believe it had anything to do with her. This was a major step. Gayle just waited sympathetically while Factor cleared her throat, probably straightened her dress and, more than likely, took her gun to pieces.

"Anyway. This next Doctor, they found in the middle of the sealed crime scene - just like the body, I might add, not a trace of blood on him, and the only hint he's even been in the place is the cobwebs from that spiral staircase. He apparently came down it?"

"Get me some and I'll check it," Gayle offered. "Spider silk and the polyester stuff they were using everywhere else are different. You could probably tell by feeling it."

"Was the stuff in the room with the corpse real?"

"Yes, thanks so much for reminding me."

She could hear Factor's grin. "Anyway, I gave him the same spiel I'd given everyone else: Welcome to Who's Your Body, I'm your host, Detective Factor. Then, I made the mistake of asking him to tell me everything. Apparently, it's like the truth, the whole truth, etc. You don't _really_ want them to tell it. He gave me the definition of philanthropist, ate a jelly baby, and asked me if my corpse was married or had a beard. He also suggested that our body should be strange if it really belonged to the suspect... is it a suspect if it's suspected of having been murdered? I'm starting to sound like him. He also mentioned something that I'm almost certain I've heard of, and can't remember, and he stole my photos of the dead guy. It had to be him. I was just about to figure out the thing I couldn't remember when I got interrupted. As usual."

"By another doctor."

"Actually, no. Not yet. Seems they found out about the office manager, but I'll come back to him. I _was _going to call you about him, but I ran into yet another person who had no business being there. I mean it literally, this time. He called me Susan Sto Helit, if you can believe it. He is the prettiest thing..." Gayle grinned. That tone was very rare. Factor cleared her throat again and rushed along. "But never mind that. He has to have been the nuttiest in this fruitcake. I asked him if he knew what he was doing there and he gave me the weirdest birds-and-bees lecture I have ever heard. I asked him if he was smoking crack. He asked me about you."

"Me? Like forensics in general, or by name?"

"'Ms. Guessom', he said. Come to think of it, I have absolutely no idea how he knew your name. But he was like a fortune teller at a bake sale - the last thing you expect to see and completely in outer space."

"That's not the first time you've mentioned outer space. Have you actually ruled out little green men?"

"The only thing I've ruled out right now is a simple solution to any of this." She paused, there was a click, and Gayle knew her gun was back in one piece. "Oh, but let me tell you! He blames his problems with his not-a-friend Master on Brownian motion and_ then_ let it slip that the guy might be some sort of _hypnotist_. And I just had this thought that, wouldn't that explain how everyone seems to think they know him and no one actually does? I was about to drag that out of him, when Manor called."

"I was trying to have him call you about ID'ing the DB, but he said something about an error message."

"I was trying to call you, I promise. So I figured I'd call you, be right back, and find out more."

"As if that was going to happen."

"Yes, I was wrong. I was on my way to call you, honestly I was, when my poor rookie comes charging up to me to tell me they've arrested someone. I'd tell you all about him, but I still cannot believe... he's very convincing, all right? Oh, but he was wearing the bowtie we found on the corpse. And - get this - I have never seen anyone treat a pair of handcuffs like this before. The guy's covered in goo - not blood, ichor - and he's just sitting there like it happens to him every day, and wearing the handcuffs as casually as a pair of bracelets. I swear to you, I had a perfectly logical reason for letting him go. I promise."

"You must've, what with the big, important chief telling you to arrest somebody. Or you're afraid he'll arrest whoever's standing closest…"

"That's more likely, actually."

"Did you get me a sample of the ichor to analyze?"

"No, and you can't have one. Sorry." Gayle blinked at how quickly Factor dismissed the request. "But I really, really need you to come out here. I need a basic mental health eval on a couple of these guys and, frankly, if even one more doctor who _isn't_ you turns up, probably on me as well."

"I've gotta see these guys," Gayle admitted. "I'd say it can't be as bad as you're describing, but you really sound like it is. But before I go, about the ID." This couldn't be a complete griping session, not when there was some solid, new information to pass on. "We found him, and your Doctors were actually right. It's not Master at all."

"That's what I was afraid of."

"I was getting ready to pester you for the actual name of his next of kin, when we got a hit in CODIS."

Factor breathed something that might have been a sigh of relief. "And?"

"Positive match for a missing person reported a week ago in Frederick, Maryland. I'd say he's no longer a John Doe, but his name is actually Jonathan Doe. Retired Navy, that's why his DNA was on file. Do you want me to send an officer to do the notification? It's not like the family can ID the body… he had a tattoo in his records, but I checked where it's supposed to be, and there's just a scar now."

"Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure we couldn't be sure who this guy was," Factor answered. "He's the office manager here, or he was. We'd been looking for him to get all the keys to the place. Guess that's not happening."

"Guess not. And the family? Are they actually in Maryland?"

"No, his mother is the delightful Mrs. Antoinette Doe. I'm sure you remember her? She comes by your office from time to time, asking you all the details about specific dead bodies."

Gayle grimaced, suddenly making the connection. "The crazy doll lady? Hang on." Her computer hadn't gone to sleep yet, was just running the screen saver. "I can't figure out…" She trailed off as the program she needed came up and she rapidly tapped out the relevant number in the relevant boxes. "His address was in Maryland 'til three years ago... looks like he moved back in with Mom then?"

"Yep, and Mom's a nut job. She always wanted someone to make her dolls that looked like real people – but dead ones. And from what I understand, she and junior did not get along at all. I'll send Maynard in a little while. He'll hate me forever, it'll be so worth it. Is that everything?"

Gayle paused, then her eyes fell on the open file with the crime scene photos still showing. "I still can't get my head around the scene. I mean, going back over the photos and all, there's no explanation I can think of for how Doe ended up in that room."

"I know. Or how anyone managed to find that room and put a body in the middle of it without disturbing what's got to be years and years of dust. It doesn't look like anyone's been in there before today, and even then, it's like the guy was beamed in."

"That's it!" Gayle announced. "You cracked the case!"

The two roommates shared a calming moment of mutual humor, and then Gayle sobered and cleared her throat.

"And we still don't know what's up with Master, do we? Is he a suspect, now? Or are we waiting for a ransom note or something?"

"Well, if these Doctor guys are right, we're looking for an alien deathray and a plot to take over the world. I'm going back to question them, see how all this started. Get here as soon as you can."

* * *

_To be continued..._


	12. Pickup Six

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: It took me an entire month, but I can safely say that I can find absolutely no legal loophole in any by-law of the entire Intergalactic Society of Terran-based Time Lords that allows us to claim Doctor Who in any way shape or form. Sorry, I did try.

Human law? No, you'd need a lawyer - or at least a sane person - to do that.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 12: Pickup Six_**

_Starring: The Sixth Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor checked her gun for the second time - not loaded, safety on, no crazy people could steal it and shoot themselves - and shoved it back into the holster. Regulations said it was supposed to be loaded. Then again, Regulations didn't have a damn thing to say on the subject of seven John Smiths, an actual Jon Doe John Doe, and a missing murderer who might instead be a victim. Nor did they know anything about zombies, hypnotists, escape artists, the supernatural, drunken police chiefs, or caffeine withdrawal in over-stressed life forms.

Given the night she was having, the Detective was absolutely certain she was well off the books. Right, first things first. She checked the list she had scribbled during her rambling review of the evening's events. The first note read: "Find out what Smith thinks Master will do/has done."

She considered that, and went over the list as she walked down the hall. Maynard, as she walked by him, was bitching about getting bleach on his uniform. The lanky, bow-tied boy of a Doctor seemed to be darting around with something that looked like it might've once been a kitchen torch.

She watched him out the corner of her eye for a moment, still unsure why she thought this was a good idea, then turned back to her list. Of course, that was very important, knowing what Master was up to. Still it couldn't really be the most important thing going on around here, given the guy with the blow torch and the cops carrying Clorox™. "Are we about to be invaded by the undead?" she asked casually.

"Infected!" yelled the Doctor.

Factor blinked. She could have sworn she'd seen him ahead of her, but there he was behind her. "Are you all clean, yes, yes, good good good." He rushed passed her again, and Factor just shook her head.

With a firm frown of decision, she knew what, exactly, she needed to know first, and stormed into the office she'd commandeered for questioning her suspects... guests... suspicious guests. The first cubicle she came to happened to have the Doctor in the party-colored coat waiting in it. He looked decidedly shifty and Factor was absolutely certain he was up to something when he smiled at her politely and beckoned her to sit.

"All right," she said, faking up her best "PMS-and-a-gun" expression. "I have had enough of this. Assume I'll believe anything you say and answer me one question, just one!"

"Certainly, Detective," the Doctor offered, returning her angry expression with a haughty indifference that amazed her in its direct contradiction to his earlier behavior.

She deflated immediately and sank down in her chair. "Sorry," she grumbled. She felt worse when the man patted her arm in a sort of reluctant sympathy. "But seriously, what exactly happened when you got here?"

The Doctor gave a thoughtful frown. "Anything?" he clarified.

"Absolutely anything," she promised.

"On your own head, then," he said, and began to explain.

* * *

A tall blue box came into existence four feet off the ground, still spinning as it finished solidifying, and dropped down onto the grass with surprising lightness. Along the top, above a set of doors, were the words "POLICE BOX" in large, black lettering. An eerie sort of silence now filled the air, the loud wheezing sound having faded away as the blue box had come into existence. In this silence, the soft click of a lock being undone seemed to echo out across the clear, star-filled sky, and a second later the doors opened with a resounding crash.

A hand shot out, grasping at the doorframe, the wrist disappearing into a yellow-and-black striped cuff. All at once, a man stumbled out of the box, one hand still gripping the blue wood as the other was holding his head, long fingers lost amid a tangle of blonde curls as his face twisted with an expression of immense pain. Had anyone been in the area, their eyes would have traveled up from the striped cuff, to the coral-colored sleeve, and then would have been lost amid the dozens of patterns and shades that made up the garish coat the man was draped in, the ends swaying around trousers of the same bumblebee-like pattern as the cuffs as he moved.

The man collapsed against the side of the box, teeth clenched and eyes shut tight. He remained like this for several long minutes, head resting on the blue paneling, knuckles white as both of his hands clung to the box as though it was all that was keeping him upright, shoulders rigid with tension. When he finally pulled away, his eyes blinked open, and he shook his head as though to clear it. This was a bad idea, however, as he then swayed forward again, and clasped the edges of the doors to keep from falling. The next time he stepped away, he only wavered slightly on his green-shoed feet, and instead looked carefully around him, frowning.

Vision still slightly off-kilter, he took in the carpet of grass beneath his feet and, much more noticeable, the long row of hedges that was at least twice his height and stretched on to the right for several meters before hitting a corner and then going on from there, forming another solid wall of shrubbery. He looked behind him, noting that the TARDIS had settled herself into a corner, and that there was another wall that ran from behind the blue police box to a few feet ahead of him that either stopped or took a left as he couldn't see even a twig carrying on from it.

"Hm." He started for the left path, then paused, looking back again. The small light on the top of the TARDIS was lit, a puddle of clear, white light spilling out along the ground, but... that was all. The light didn't even seem to be breaking the shadows woven between the branches in the hedges around it, nor was any light coming in from beyond the wall. Otherwise, the paths were almost completely dark. He frowned and looked up to the sky, but aside from determining that he was on Earth - nowhere else had quite the same ripples in the atmosphere, let alone the constellations - and the Northern Hemisphere at that, there would be little help there in the way of light, no matter how cheerfully the crescent moon smiled down.

Then he heard a branch snap.

Whirling around, he peered into the darkness, and caught sight of something disappearing around the corner to his left. He drew himself up to his full height, lips pressed into a thin line, and he took a half second to look again at the TARDIS before setting off toward the movement at a determined pace, and out off the bubble of light the police box offered.

As soon as he had rounded the corner, he stopped again; the grassy path had reached another long row of hedges, and split off into two directions. To his left, the path went on for a while before vanishing around a corner, while to the right it went straight into a dead end. Both paths looked almost identical, the hedges trimmed back to allow for the most room for a wanderer, their surfaces perfectly, uniformly straight, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the next began. Without much of an option left, the man took the left pathway again, each step muffled against the slightly damp ground beneath his feet.

Then he came to another split, this one leading out in three different directions. The one to his right went on until another corner, where it went left, while the one to the left of him went back in the direction he'd come from, and the one directly in front of him carried on until it branched off into two more paths. He frowned, looking down each as far as he could, and then sighed, slipping his hands in his pockets as he glanced between the three available options. Then he heard something, a rustling, creaking sound. He cautiously turned around.

Before his eyes, the path he had just walked from was closing up, the two hedges closest to the mouth of the grassy corridor reaching across to each other with thin, spindly branches. Where they met, the branches grasped onto each other, sending off more branches of their own, weaving together, leaves springing up along the branches as they moved. Within seconds, where an opening had once been, there was now a solid mass of branches and leaves.

The night fell silent once more as he looked along the trail of footprints left in the grass now leading back into the thicket, the only proof that he had walked this way at all. The only proof that anyone had walked this way. His blue eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he again looked down the three avenues offered.

He took the center path and kept on from there, curious to see if the hedge had any particular destination in mind for him or if it was only trying to get him well and truly lost. Each pathway, to the untrained eye, looked exactly the same. To the trained eye however, it only looked mostly the same, with an extra root or corner depending on which way he turned. Left here, right there, going straight another time, all too aware that the labyrinth was constantly reforming around him.

At one point, he had made to climb one of the towering shrubs, the branches seeming thick enough to hold his weight, but the moment his hand touched the leaves he pulled it back, thin cuts marking his fingers. He glared at the offending greenery and had the distant thought that, perhaps, it was better for Peri not to be here. Knowing the girl, she'd have tripped full into a bush by now.

The man walked on for no small amount of time, yet he noticed the sky overhead had not changed. Nothing had changed, aside from the rows and rows of shrubbery; the same eerie silence and, he noticed before a wall of branches closed behind him, the grass was springing back, erasing his footprints as he went along. It was enough to make any other person feel ill at ease. He, however, was the Doctor, and refused to be cowed by a bit of glorified lawn ornamentation.

As he rounded another corner, he noticed something ahead. Through the gaps between leaf and branch, a bright blue light sent strange shadows flickering out across the surrounding area, like some sort of old-fashioned shadow lantern without the spinning. And, while it was strong enough to pierce the seemingly impenetrable mesh of plant matter, it did not rise over the top, as if there was something blocking it from escaping.

He narrowed his eyes, hands on his hips, lips pressed into a thin line. It wasn't the TARDIS, her light was white and he would be able to feel her if she was just on the other side of the bushes. So what could it be? He stepped as close to the hedges as possible, listening, but still there was nothing, no hum or whir of machinery to be heard. He frowned.

"Hello!" He shouted to it, stepping back. "Hello, my name is the Doctor, can you hear me?"

No reply.

His frown deepened, as even the sound of his voice trailed off into silence. His hands slipped into his pockets as he stood in thought for another few moments. Then, with a small, noncommittal sound, he turned to the left and resumed walking. This time, with a new goal in mind.

To find the source of that light.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	13. Man, What're You Doing Here?

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: I'll just search the attic one more time for our ownership of Doctor Who... Ah HAH! *runs for the stairs* Found it! I found it, I found it! *crash thud bang tumble* What was I... hum, maybe I'd better get another chapter edited before everyone thinks I got amnesia or something... where did those stairs come from?

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 13: Man, What're You Doing Here?_**

_Starring: The Sixth Doctor, the Tenth Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Detective Factor realized she was on the edge of her seat and forced herself to sit back. The story, while almost completely unbelievable, was also utterly enthralling. She could tell by the smug look on the rainbow-clad Doctor's face that he knew - beyond a shadow of a doubt - that he had her complete attention.

She wanted to resist, she really really did. She couldn't. "What happened next?" she begged. His story-telling style was engrossing; the situation he described was hair-raising; it was a fantastic Halloween tale. She was supposed to be a trained police officer, seeking real answers to a real problem, but the Doctor's voice had woven around her and built her a castle in the air where she could see every word he spoke as clearly as if it were happening to her.

He offered her a tease of a smile, a flirt of a look, a hint of a come-hither in the sparkle of his eyes and the tilt of his head. He knew he had her, and Factor knew he wasn't going to be the slightest bit merciful about it. He opened his mouth slowly, smiled lazily. Factor felt like she was going to jump out of her skin - or possibly throttle him. "Well, then..."

There was an enormous crash, as if the kitchen cabinets had just spat out all of their contents all over the floor, all at once. Factor jumped to her feet, gun in hand, eyes wild.

"You may want to put that down," the Doctor suggested mildly, "before you hurt yourself."

"It isn't loaded," Factor told him tersely, "but tell anybody, and I'll throw my bullets at you." She sighed. "I'll be right back."

The Doctor grinned. "Somehow, I doubt it."

Factor doubted it, too.

* * *

The scene in the kitchen wasn't anything like what Detective Factor had expected. Oddly enough, it was pretty much exactly what the sound had described. There was a tremendously large pile of battered metal and destroyed porcelain in the middle of the floor, almost enough that it was possible the cabinets, which were standing open, really had spat out their entire contents at the floor in the middle of the room.

However, the man trying to pull his dignity from under the rubble was unexpected. Factor shook her head, holstered her weapon, and reached a hand to help the Doctor in the brown suit and trainers to his feet. While he dusted himself down somewhat sheepishly and tried to look like he'd meant to be buried in crockery and tin, Factor turned three of her officers away at the door, strongly considering getting them to check on the others.

The Doctor ran hands through his sticky-uppy hair and, Factor was certain, had no idea he'd made it much, much worse. "Erm... sorry about that."

Factor shrugged. It wasn't her house. As of her last check, in fact, it might not be anyone's house at all. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain?" she suggested all the same, gesturing at the cabinets. It was weird, after all.

The Doctor frowned. "No?" he said, and it sounded like he was taking a wild guess rather than actually answering any question she may have asked.

This was the talkative one, if Factor remembered correctly. Strange, because he definitely wasn't talking now. She leaned against the counter. "What were you looking for?" It was a wild guess of her own.

"Long story," the Doctor allowed tersely, looking almost anywhere but directly at the detective.

Factor dropped her head into her hands, then peeked up at the man who looked strangely too frail to have survived being in the middle of this explosion. All of these various Doctors were giving hints like that, really...

Something niggled. Factor frowned and folded her arms across her chest. "Look, why don't you assume I'll believe anything - absolutely anything. Then, tell me everything."

The Doctor gave her a shiny, bright, and wicked little smile. He opened his mouth as if to begin quite the most grand oration ever and Factor dived for cover with a sharp exclamation of, "Wait!"

The Doctor closed his mouth with an absurdly attractive pout. "Yes?" he allowed.

"Everything relevant," she clarified. "Tell me everything that happened to you from the moment you arrived in this house."

"Everything?" the Doctor checked. "You're sure?"

"Absolutely everything."

The Doctor swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing. "You look like the gun carrying sort," he said. "You really want everything?"

"I don't shoot unarmed civilians," Factor promised, almost gently. She was starting to think there was something sort of shell-shocked about this Doctor. "But if you name all the atoms you passed on your way downstairs, I'll at least consider poking you with pointy cushions."

The Doctor suddenly grinned beatifically. "You've excellent taste," he decided. "So, since you do..." He winked. "My principle weapons are confusion and surprise..."

* * *

The Master was gone.

Jack had returned to his team and Martha was visiting her family. She had said twenty-four hours, but somehow the Doctor expected it would be longer than that. Not through his own fault, mind; he already had the coordinates precisely calculated. Still, something told him she wouldn't be coming back to travel with him any time soon.

So, back to the same old life, last of the Time Lords. Yes, he had an appointment to keep, but a little side trip wouldn't hurt. Might help get him back into the swing of things after the past year...

The TARDIS dematerialized from outside of the Jones' residence, and dove into the Vortex. The Doctor had somehow managed to avoid most of twenty-fourth century earth, and he thought now might be a good time to rectify that. It would be nice to see the planet wholly at peace after what he had recently watched it suffer.

The TARDIS was performing rather magnificently, considering what she had been through herself. Not bad at all for her first serious journey through time since the paradox machine had been disabled. The Doctor would almost have called it smooth sailing - until the ship gave a tremendous lurch, throwing him back from the console and into the railing.

He was quickly back at the controls, trying to bring the TARDIS around to his intended course, but she wasn't responding. "Little detour?" the Doctor asked, trying to gauge where they were headed - and why. The ship landed suddenly, leaving the Doctor to scramble to keep from face-planting on the console.

He patted the ship affectionately once everything had stilled. "It's alright, girl," he said, "you did good. Rest up, and I'll just have a look around."

The TARDIS' lights dimmed briefly - tiredly, he thought. He collected his overcoat from the railing and strode to the doors without bothering to look at the scanner. His plans never lasted much further than his first steps out of the TARDIS anyway, so what was the point, really?

The Doctor stepped out, then closed the doors behind him. He needed to shut out the lights of the TARDIS' interior if he was going to be able to see clearly in the dim light of the room in which he had found himself. From the slope of the ceiling, he assumed it was an attic of some sort. That certainly would account for the myriads of cloth-draped items that filled the space. And an unused attic, if the layer of dust was any indication.

Moonlight slanted in through the single window at the far side of the room. A glance around behind the TARDIS revealed the only other window. The Doctor stepped up to it, taking in the clear, star-filled sky and the portion of the grounds visible below. Second storey on a decently-sized estate, he surmised, noting the pond with its small, stone quay, and the freshly-mown lawn that climbed into tree-covered slopes.

A piano began playing softly in what had been almost eerie silence. The Doctor turned quickly from the window, trying to pinpoint the sound. Considering his surroundings, the music was still rather eerie. There were no aisles, so the Doctor weaved between what he could only assume were tables, wardrobes, beds, and other, unidentifiable pieces of furniture. Beside a spiral staircase thick with cobwebs, he found the piano.

It was a baby grand, judging by the size of it. He couldn't tell much else; it was draped, just like the rest of the room's contents.

But invisible fingers were depressing the keys through the cloth.

The Doctor stepped closer and lifted the cloth from the back of the piano. He pried open the lid, scanning with the sonic screwdriver, just to make sure he wasn't dealing with a cleverly-disguised player piano. Having noted a distinct lack of automation within, he let the lid fall closed and turned to face the keyboard.

"Alright," the Doctor muttered softly, tucking the screwdriver into his jacket pocket. He'd dealt with supposed ghosts before. "Hello, there," he said more clearly and with the friendliest smile he could muster.

The music continued without interruption.

"I'm the Doctor," he added.

There was a distinct lack of response.

"Well, if you're not going anywhere," he told the uncommunicative musician, "I'll just pop back into my little, blue box and be back in a tic."

Still, nothing.

"Okay." With a nod, the Doctor returned to the TARDIS.

He checked to see if the ship was detecting anything on her own, then set the controls. He moved to a section of the floor grating, hesitating only a moment before prying it up and climbing in to collect the gear that lay below. Once the backpack was checked and secured, he picked up several cone-shaped devices and a coil of cable. He clambered out and shifted the cones in his arms so that he could unwind the cable as he went.

He followed the sound of the piano music until he had arrived back at the scene of the mystery. He let the cable fall to the floor, then set up the cones around the piano.

"You just keep doing what you're doing," he said, connecting his equipment and checking the settings. "Be right back," the Doctor called over his shoulder, already sprinting back to the TARDIS. He tried very hard not to think about having someone inside the ship to work with him on this.

Cable connected, sensors activated, he rushed quickly back to the piano. Blue light arced between the cones once he activated them, but the music continued unabated. The Doctor looked through his 3-D glasses, but there was nothing. He pulled a scanner from the backpack, but all its indications told him that there was nothing there. He returned the scanner and shoved the glasses roughly into his pocket.

"What are you, then?" he asked the air in front of the piano. He pulled at his hair, racking his brain for an answer since none was forthcoming from the invisible pianist.

Shaking his head, he deactivated the triangulation field and returned to the TARDIS. He pulled the cable free of the console, dragged it out of the TARDIS, and closed the doors again.

He followed the cable and the continued sound of the music back across the room, walking at his own pace. He searched through his mental catalogue of all things supernatural-ish in appearance, or in this case behavior, and once again came up empty.

He approached the piano and leaned against it as he tried to place the song. Parts of it seemed familiar, but he guessed it was an original composition. Improvisation, perhaps. It certainly was going on a long while.

"What are you?" the Doctor asked again. "Something new?" He looked sternly at where the pianist would be. "I don't believe in ghosts," he said.

The music immediately ceased, and a blast of frigid air swept around the Doctor and then flowed down the spiral staircase, leaving sheets of cobwebs dangling in its wake.

"Now we're onto something," the Doctor said with a grin. He quickly shrugged out of the ghost-detecting backpack and chased after it.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	14. Strain and Strainer

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Third Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_For this year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: If we _owned_ Doctor Who, don't you think we'd be able to pay a little more attention to this project, instead of getting sidetracked by, oh, I don't know, LIFE?

And in answer to Aietradaea's review, dead fics can be resuscitated. Wait, I mean, it wasn't dead!

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 14: Strain and Strainer_**

_Starring: The Tenth Doctor, the Third Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

Confusion, surprise… and an almost fanatical devotion to dashing headlong for disaster, Factor thought grumpily. She was stomping through the back corridor, looking for the fuzzy-haired, suit-wearing Doctor.

They'd gotten as far in his story as him chasing after his ghost, when he'd suddenly decided to move the conversation to the second floor, apparently where he actually intended to chase after said ghost. He'd not warned her, of course, merely explained as she raced after him towards the main staircase, that he'd gotten no further in his initial search than his name on the wall in blood - which he'd apparently licked, and therefore could tell her it was Type AB Positive human blood. She was impressed that his assessment of the type matched Gayle's report. She was also a little horrified and more than a little disgusted as she made a mental note to have Dr. Guessom test the blood for HIV.

She'd just had to ask, of course, how he'd ended up going from the cubicle her cops had left him in to the kitchen. Detective Factor was starting to think she was going to have to hand in her shield after this one, because it was entirely possible she was going to have a phobia about asking questions.

"Well, where else was I going to find a tea strainer?"

"A... what?"

"A tea strainer. They usually keep them in kitchens. Well, some people keep them in kitchens. Occasionally, they keep them in parlors and such not, and Louis the XIV kept his in a locked chest - solid gold, you know. That's the problem with long reigns of kings who live for ages. They end up with untrained children on the throne, outliving their own heirs... very complicated... And of course, Louis XV and I weren't going to get on anyway, were we?"

"Why a tea strainer?" Factor had interrupted, determined to get him back on topic.

"You're a witch, aren't you? Didn't you read your Rowling? A tea strainer's just the thing. Just ask Professor Lockhart! Blimey, what'd'ya learn in these American schools..." He'd looked up at a thunderous crash, and they'd both seen (though not very clearly) what Factor had suspected to be the Doctor in the tweed jacket go running by, clapping a pair of pot lids together like cymbals. "What's that?"

And the brown-suited Doctor had disappeared. And now Factor was looking for him, and not finding him anywhere.

She threw open a door that was supposed to be a broom cupboard, according to Maynard's listing of the room. Inside, she found a broom, a disused roll-top desk, and the white-haired, tuxedo-wearing Doctor ransacking it. Surprised, she might've let out a little yelp.

The Doctor looked up, annoyance practically written across his face. "Where have you been?"

Factor's hackles rose. She started to tell him that she was a full-grown detective, and NO ONE talked to her like that, not EVER, but he waved a careless hand and charged on, heedless of her annoyance. "Never mind. Come look at this."

"This" turned out to be several long pages of notes about the house. "Here's the very odd thing," the Doctor said. "This is very similar to the Master's handwriting - so similar that I'd say it's either his or a close relative's..."

"But why would he be making notes about his house?" Detective Factor wondered, in spite of herself.

"Why, indeed?" the Doctor agreed. "Excellent question. Very much the detective, aren't you?"

"That is my job," Factor reminded him.

"Yes, yes, of course." He shook his head to himself. "I do believe I'm starting to sound like my first self. Must be the proximity."

Again, Factor began to feel irrelevant as he continued to flick through the papers. She cleared her throat to get his attention. "Look, I know you've been opening every lock in the place, and helping out some of the boys while you're doing that, but..."

"But you're a very busy woman and you're not just going to stand here waiting patiently when you could be out shooting something?" the Doctor suggested dryly.

Factor rolled her eyes. "Look, I get that you Brits don't carry guns, not even with your law enforcement - apparently, you see a murderer and yell stop, in hopes that he will. Here, however, law enforcement personnel are issued with weapons, which they are expected to carry. A great many of us do not draw our weapons. Some of us go our entire careers without having fired the thing anywhere but the firing range, ever. Anyone who thinks otherwise watches entirely too much TV. So I don't want to shoot people, I don't carry a gun because I expect to shoot people. If one more person accuses me of planning to shoot people, today, I'll probably get very pissed off..."

"And shoot someone?" the Doctor offered, looking quite cheeky as he said it.

"And stuff cream pies into someone's trousers," Factor snapped back. "Stops them from running, and confuses the hell out of them, too. Works fine for me."

The Doctor chuckled. "I think I like you," he decided. Then again, he went right back to flicking through his papers.

Factor sighed. "Look, Doctor Smith, while you're reading through what I should probably have a team studying instead..."

"Oh, no, you don't want innocent people exposed to the Master if you can help it," he cautioned. "Best to let me do it - I'm something of an expert."

Factor was shocked a bit speechless and just stared at him.

"What was your question, dear girl?" the Doctor offered, surprisingly kind. "While I'm working, I can answer it as well."

Factor was dubious, but finally nodded, realizing she did have another question for him. "All right," she said. "Tell me what happened when you first got here. Before we met in the kitchen."

The Doctor frowned. "That story might be just a little interesting," he said, and put down the papers, after all.

* * *

The TARDIS landed with a bit of a bump, but that was fine, considering the hell he'd just gone through to get the Old Girl back in working condition again.

Asking the Master for help because he couldn't remember how to do it himself had been utterly mortifying. Still, at least he now had a completely workable TARDIS. And this was his first little test drive since dematerialising off of the Axon ship.

He rushed to the door, hoping that he was anywhere but Earth, opened the door and was promptly extremely disappointed.

He knew just by the trees and the air surrounding him that he was somewhere on Sol 3. The damnable planet didn't seem to want to let him go. Still, this didn't look or smell much like London, or even anywhere in England, so at least it was a bit of a change of scenery for him.

He was in a forest. It was dark and slightly spooky, but still just a normal forest on normal Earth.

A forest that was at least odd in some way would be much more welcome than...

AROOOOOOOO!

"Oh, hello. That sounded like a wolf. That rules out a few countries at least. Let's see where we are, shall we, Old Girl?" he said to himself, while patting the now closed door of the TARDIS.

AROOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"And that...sounded something like a wolf, but different somehow."

A sickening little yelp, possibly coming from the first wolf echoed in the air around him, and the Doctor took one step towards where the noise had come from.

Maybe it was two wolves in a pack fighting for dominance or food? He wasn't exactly an expert on wolves.

He didn't have to go far. The body of a giant wolf like creature was lying on the ground. Above it was an even bigger wolf creature. Hmm, a werewolf. Or maybe a haemoveriform in wolfs clothing. Interesting.

Not very good for his health though, if those eyes now looking at him, and the snout now sniffing his scent had anything to do with it.

"Well, hello there. I'm going to leave you now. Enjoy your meal."

He turned to go and unfortunately, found another werewolf right behind him, more interested in scenting him out rather than eating him for the moment. It was always the small things one should be grateful for. He couldn't remember who it was who had told him that.

"Oh, well, yes. What do you want?"

The big one ahead of him cocked its head to the side and stared at him. Well, apart from seeing that they were standing over the dead body of what was probably one of their own people, they seem rather...friendly. At least, they weren't being openly hostile to him. Yet again, this could be considered a game to them. Playing with their food, for shame.

Well, he wouldn't become wolf food. Or any other type of food for that matter. He would just walk away and head back to the TARDIS. She'd then take him off this godforsaken rock known as Earth and somewhere else, anywhere else.

Maybe he could find a planet called Anywhere for the occasion.

"Well then. I'll just be off then. Hopefully off this planet if my ship decides to cooperate. I'd offer you gentlemen a lift but, I am not too sure where it is I'd be going, and there are plenty of things in this forest to eat and play with that don't include me. Have a nice day."

With that, he turned to one of the sides, and found it wolf free and took off. He got turned around in the trees, he was having trouble locating his TARDIS because of whatever it was the Time Lords had taken from his head and instead he found his way to a curious looking manor house, instead. A mansion maybe? Either way, it was a rather nice find, considering he heard three werewolves slowly following form a safe distance behind.

Maybe they were native to the area, and were curious as to what he was doing there. Or maybe they were just as lost and wanted off as he did.

Either way, they wouldn't be finding out about each other anything more than necessary, because he had made his way to the house and found an entrance.

He did what any respectable person would do with an entrance. He entered.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	15. Moving Forward

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, **SamiWami** and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Fourth Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_Yes, the 2011 October Project is... the continuation of the 2010 October Project! As with last year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: "I sent a message to the fish. I told them this is what I wish. The little fishes of the sea, they sent an answer back to me. The little fishes' answer was, 'we cannot do this, sir, because... you still don't own Doctor Who.'"

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 15: Moving Forward_**

_Starring: The Third Doctor, (the Eleventh Doctor,) the First Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

"He's skinny," Detective Factor explained to a baffled pair of uniformed officers in the doorway of the manor house. "But he's not skinny enough to turn into a needle, even in a haystack this big. He's gotta be somewhere." Along with about a dozen other people ALSO answering to 'Doctor', she thought, but never mind that right now.

The officers nodded and snagged another pair as they zipped across the room with spray bottles. Factor shook her head and adamantly did not want to know. She turned back to the white-haired Doctor, whom she thought she might've turned away when all this began if she'd only known he was going to be the first in a deluge. "Sorry. I have another wandering guest here, so I need to get him found. You'd just finished telling me about... werewolves, and how we met, of course."

"Lupine wavelength... oh, balderdash." The Doctor in the opera cape looked not so much annoyed as completely fed-up. "If I ever get off this planet, I am never ever coming back."

"Never say never ever!" The bright and chipper tone of the very young Doctor (whom Factor hadn't yet been able to pin into place for any reason) bounced giddily toward where the Detective stood with her lock-picking guest and a pile of illegible paperwork. She'd been wondering how much longer she could keep these Doctors out from under each other's feet. It wasn't going to be very much longer, obviously. She wondered idly, with so many of them knowing Mr. Master, how many of them were acquainted.

"Well, who the devil was that?" asked the Doctor who liked to pick locks. Factor fumbled with the paperwork, trying to catch him before he could dart off, but it was far too late. He darted down the corridor the other Doctor's voice had come from, a very dashing sight with his cape flicking dramatically behind him.

"I quit," Factor said to no one in particular. She, who loved chaos, who thrived in disorder, who shone through panic, had finally, for the first time in her life, had enough.

"Don't quit to me," said an amused voice from yet another direction. "It's certainly none of my business what you do with your time, is it, hum?"

Factor smiled. The really old man was back, the one she adored, because he was brittle and reminded her of an old teacher she'd once had. "Changed my mind," she said, and turned back to this particular Doctor, grinning brightly. "I'm so sorry I've not had a chance to catch up to you, Doctor." She walked toward him, considering all the doors and wondering which hadn't been checked yet, and wondering where they led. "What were you looking for?"

"Ah," he said, and looked decidedly shifty.

Factor couldn't help grinning even wider. "It's okay, Doctor. You can't possibly tell me anything I haven't already heard tonight."

The Doctor looked amazed. "What, really? Good lord, no wonder you wanted to quit." He somehow managed to turn completely paternal as she reached him. His hand was dry and his touch a bit chilly, and Factor had no idea which of them was supposed to be supporting the other as he took her arm. "Come this way, child. There's a nice quiet little room just up here."

She let him lead her at his own pace. "And then, you'll tell me how you got here?" she asked as innocently as she could possibly manage. No one had ever seen fit to tell her that it was ridiculously believable out of her, choosing to spare her from the knowledge that she was easily mistaken for a child.

"Of course, child." Leading her into the deserted last room on the corridor, he helped her into one of a row of chairs in front of one of the haunted house displays. "There, doesn't this look nice."

It did, if you discounted the guillotined Marie Antoinette holding her severed, bloody head. The Doctor regarded the fake display with strangely bitter amusement. "The cut is usually considerably cleaner," he informed the mechanical toy.

Factor laughed and rubbed her hands and bounced like a child, full of wild anticipation. "So? Story?" She was only partially acting.

The Doctor smiled, patted her hand, and explained.

* * *

The Doctor, having decided that there was nothing immediately dangerous outside, opened the doors and exited the TARDIS. He was then immediately confronted with something that was, if not immediately dangerous, threatening in its implications.

He recognised the equipment. Someone was trying to grow a fresh body. For what purpose, he didn't know, but such endeavours rarely ended well.

Susan, apparently, had also noticed that all was not right—or, at the very least, knew him well enough to sense his concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The Doctor gestured absently towards their surroundings. "This," he said, "is from entirely the wrong era."

It wasn't a lie. He just didn't see the point of immediately revealing all of his suspicions simply because he was asked. Better to ascertain exactly what threat this mysterious Frankenstein copycat posed before he frightened his compatriots.

"Do you know what it is, Grandfather?" she asked.

"No," he replied, not even flinching at the blatant untruth. "But I intend to find out."

Ian looked curiously at him. "Do you want us to stay and help?"

The Doctor smirked. "My dear boy," he began. "You are exceedingly human and from completely the wrong century. Exactly what help would you be in identifying the nature of an alien artifact hundreds of years ahead of your time? No, I want you to stay in the ship."

The man, evidently used to such speeches, just looked amused. "Come on, Barbara," he said, turning back to the doors of the blue box; "I think I know when we're not wanted."

"Oh this is quite ridiculous," Barbara said wearily. "Just because we're..."

"Chatterton, please take the girls back to the TARDIS."

"Oh, it's 'the girls' now, is it?" Barbara complained. "Well, whatever. If the Doctor wants to stay in a dingy basement poking at machines, let him." Briefly putting an arm around Susan, she retreated inside the ship.

"Call us if you need us," Ian told him.

"Be careful," Susan added, chewing her lip a little.

The Doctor waved a hand in simultaneous acknowledgement and dismissal and turned to make his way over to the corner of the basement opposite from the table. No sense in letting them get a look at what he was actually going for, after all. As soon as the door closed behind him with his companions safely on the other side, he turned around and began his approach with a great deal more speed than one would normally expect out of a man that frail-looking. If he was right—and he had no reason to believe that he wasn't—haste was of utmost importance.

The most interesting equipment had been hastily covered by a sheet, but enough instruments had been left in view for the Doctor to know what to look for anyway. He struggled briefly with the fabric, the object stubbornly catching on everything it could find, but in fairly short order he managed to pull it back far enough to see what was underneath.

It looked almost like a futuristic autopsy table. There were some buttons and dials on the side and the surface was covered in sensors, but it was otherwise almost normal-looking. The occupant of the table was alive, albeit unconscious; the Doctor noted tiny markings, half-scars, all along the man's skin: a sure sign of forced growth—and clumsily forced, too.

Well, there was little chance of it being otherwise on a planet with such primitive technology, but the Doctor still sincerely hoped that the poor man had been asleep for his entire life.

Resolving to worry about him later, the Doctor turned to examine the rest of the room. The entire area seemed to have been set up exclusively for the purpose of growing the man on the table, although there were no indications as to why. He did locate the remains of several failed attempts, unceremoniously dumped in a large bin in the corner; he closed that fairly quickly, suddenly even more grateful that he had bidden his companions to leave him to his investigation alone. There were a great deal of unsettling things that Susan had seen in his company; he saw no need to add to them.  
The Doctor was still unsuccessfully attempting to discover the purpose of the endeavour when he heard a rustling noise behind him. Startled, he spun around to meet the eyes of the man on the table, now very much awake and wrapped in the sheet that had poorly hidden his existence.

How could he have awakened? The Doctor thought back. The sheet, he decided, must have caught on one of the controls, disrupting the man's induced coma.

Finally, the Doctor spoke. "Who are you?" he asked, perhaps a little gruffly. "Hmm? Do you know your purpose?"

The man simply blinked at him. Blank slate, then; either a mindless slave or a body specially grown to house another consciousness. The Doctor sighed; he could have used some information on who was responsible, but at least blank slates were rarely interested in killing things.

He couldn't be left on his own, though. The Doctor needed to find somewhere to put him while he searched for his creator.

"Come with me," he said, and began to walk to the TARDIS.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	16. Nearly Headless

_A/N: **The Chibi's Are Stalking Me**,** ChloeIsMe**, **Cordelia-Lear**, **Isis the Sphinx**, **Jessa L'Rynn**, **Kathryn Shadow**, **NewDrWhoFan**, **Olfactory-Ventriloquism**, **SamiWami** and **SilverWolf7** are proud to present the Fourth Annual Doctor Who October Project._

_Yes, the 2011 October Project is... the continuation of the 2010 October Project! As with last year's story, each author is writing a different character with Jessa L'Rynn editing it all together so that it makes some semblance of sense._

Disclaimer: Don't own it. If we did, it'd be... well, different.

* * *

**Dead Men Don't Regenerate**

**_Chapter 16: Nearly Headless_**

_Starring: The First Doctor, (the Eleventh Doctor,) the Eighth Doctor and Det. Factor_

* * *

The room had been quite dusty as well as too quiet, and also empty except for the kindly old Doctor and Detective Factor. Despite seeming exhausted when they arrived here, the Doctor was quite energetic after only a moment, and Factor began having trouble getting the whole story out of him almost immediately. She'd thought it might be easier to talk to him in the well-lit cubicle area and so led him that way. He walked far too slowly, and kept playing with walls. Nevertheless, he did tell his story, and the detective thought she had most of it. Maybe.

"So, you took the creature back to your... ship?" she wondered. That was the part she just couldn't wrap her head around.

The elderly man smiled quite indulgently at her, as if she was just clever enough to be an interested audience. "That was my intention, child," he said, as if reminding her (he technically was). "I can't very well have unnatural creatures wandering about in an unknown situation, can I? The creature could have very easily been harmed."

Factor grinned. "Not at all concerned who it could harm, I guess?"

The Doctor gave her a mischievous look that was so quick she could hardly be sure she'd actually seen it. Nevertheless, Factor was convinced.

"I am always concerned, my dear young woman," he said primly. Factor nodded, and started to ask where his friends were, and what they thought of his strange acquisition.

There was a loud crash ahead and the Detective looked toward it, then shook her head as she heard that wild young Doctor shout, "Sorry, that was me. All me, so sorry. Never mind that, I'll get it! Sorry!" He was apparently still chasing zombies, or recruiting people to chase them, or something like that.

She turned back to the old Doctor. "Are your friends keeping the creature, then?"

The Doctor looked slightly sheepish. "Well, if you must know," he said, almost testily, "I'm rather afraid my ship has disappeared."

There was another tremendous crash, followed by loud swearing that Factor recognized as belonging to Maynard. "Sorry, are you all right there, with the... yes." That was the young Doctor again. "So sorry. Just put pressure on it, it'll stop in a moment."

Factor shook her head and turned back to the Doctor again. He was gone.

"What in the... Doctor?" She walked up the corridor, toward the group, to see if the old man had somehow slipped past her, checked in various rooms as she went, until she was absolutely sure there was no way an old man could have moved that fast without her knowledge.

She went the other way, looking in all the rooms as she went. In the men's room doorway, she called, "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

It wasn't the old Doctor who answered her. Rather, it was the velvet-clad Doctor with the long hair. He had a light fixture in pieces. She stared at him in confusion, then looked out for the Doctor in the hall. There was still no sign of him. She looked back at the velvet-Doctor.

"Hello?" he suggested, smiling very fetchingly.

Factor suddenly remembered being a young woman and swooning over a smile like that. "Hello," she said, forcing herself to remember she was a grownup now.

"Did you need something?"

She needed to know where the old Doctor went, why she was in a world full of Doctors, why this particular Doctor felt the urge to dismantle the bathroom, what she should do about all these Doctors, why she had a dead body that wanted the Doctor, and whose idea it was to have all the real-seeming haunted creepy things going on in a fake haunted house. Also, she needed a vacation. "Sadly, yes," she said instead. "I need to know what happened when you got here."

The Doctor frowned. "I'm almost completely certain that this won't seem..."

"Doctor," Factor stopped him, "I've heard all about zombies, ghouls and spectres, dead bodies, bodies that ought to be dead, werewolves, and a man-eating hedge maze. Well, to be perfectly honest, I've heard half about them, actually, but the point is, there's nothing you can tell me that I will not listen to. I am beginning to believe rather more than I want to, so please, feel free."

"Well, this is hardly the place..."

"I just had a man disappear on me," Factor said. "Unless you're really worried about this, there's nothing I've never seen before in this room, I promise."

"Ah yes, you have been placed in a rather awkward situation in your past."

"Have we met?" Factor wondered.

The Doctor pinched the bridge of his nose. "That, I assure you, is rather the most difficult question you have yet asked me."

Factor wanted to shake the answer out of him, but she didn't think there was enough caffeine. "Never mind. Just tell me. What you saw."

The Doctor nodded graciously. "As you wish."

* * *

The Doctor stepped from the TARDIS, admittedly confused as to why he was... well, wherever he happened to be. He was altogether certain he had never been here before, and also certain it was mid-to-late autumn of whatever year this might be, but beyond that he hardly ventured to guess.

In theory, the TARDIS was supposed to go where he piloted her. In practice, it rather seemed the other way round, with him being put wherever she seemed to find him wanted. As near as he could remember (which was unfortunately somewhat vaguely), the Doctor had resigned himself to finding out where he was wanted only after getting there, wandering about, and possibly causing a cataclysm of near-Biblical proportion.

He sighed and straightened his cravat, eyeing the quiet street with some understandable trepidation. It was late October, he surmised, as there were orange pumpkins on the steps before him, pumpkins which had been carved into excellent grotesques, to be sure, but healthy and cheerily lit all the same.

The steps led up a long, well lit path, which presumably came to the large, distant house that seemed quite promising. Too promising, if the Doctor was honest (and since there were no witnesses, why not?), and that meant far too suspicious in his book. He decided, therefore, to explore the grounds just a bit, and head up to the house only if nothing else presented itself.

The dry leaves crunched beneath his splendid shoes as he made his way up the steps, and the smell of distant smoke and blooming chrysanthemums filled his nose. The air was crisp, a brisk evening breeze slipping into the weave of his velvet coat, and it would have been chilly for a human, though it didn't affect the Time Lord.

He followed the shadow of a tree, a towering old oak that he could hear creaking in the darkness well off the path, and his feet seemed to be making more noise than he expected. He shrugged it off and, since stealth was out of the question, he kicked noisily through the crackling autumn piles, smiling almost in spite of himself. What fun they would be for a child on an October evening.

He turned abruptly to the sound of rhythmic crashing, the heavy, steady pounding of a large horse's steel-shod feet. The horse was enormous, that much was obvious just from its dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. The Time Lord considered for a moment and his curiosity got the better of him, so he waited to see what the rider might want with him.

The creature never paused or even slowed. There were sparks as it crashed over the walkway the Doctor had abandoned, and the path light struck to reveal the shape of the rider for only an instant before the horse shot into the darkness again, still heading toward him.

The Doctor's mind was racing. His first thought wasn't quite rational, simply that what he had seen was impossible. He supposed he could be excused, truly, because one just didn't expect to see a man with a horse and without his head. His second thought was a rapid series of potential explanations, everything from androids to Tessari (who were tiny aliens that infested larger clothing when they needed to do something on a larger scale). His third thought, as both horse and, impossibly, rider, seemed to scream in rage while they bore down on him, was perhaps his only truly rational thought in that moment: Run!

He dove to the side, because he didn't really have a choice. Even if he was an unexpected obstacle rather than a target, they were right on top of him. The horse shrieked again and reared, its front legs failing, the rider keeping his seat with enviable skill. It was a scene out of a nightmare, when something riding that big black horse shouted, "Doctor!"

The Time Lord gave it up as a lost cause and made for the TARDIS. His intention was spoiled almost immediately when the horse vaulted his intended path, herding him deeper into the shadows instead, its huge body blocking his escape while the rider flicked some sort of whip just above the Doctor's shoulder.

Unwilling to be forced into anything, the Doctor ducked below the level of the whip, rolling flat and hoping to be fast enough to stay out from under the deadly hooves. He'd heard that horses wouldn't run over people if they could avoid it, but it wasn't a truism he wanted to test in dire circumstances.

The horse missed him and the Doctor raced back toward the TARDIS. The rider raised a hand and, impossibly, a sheet of flame burst up through the dry leaves piled at its feet. The horse screamed again, and bore down on the Doctor. There was no way he could run from a horse, not for very long. He was cut off from the TARDIS, too, now, and escape wasn't promising at all.

He reached the lit path, charging toward the house as a last resort, expecting the horse and headless rider to catch him long before he got anywhere near safety. The lighted path, he hoped, would give him a chance to see what was really following him so he could think of something, anything. "Whatever you want, we can talk!" he shouted over his shoulder.

The horse screamed again, and the rider made a noise that sounded like a shout of pain. The Doctor didn't dare turn, but he did notice the sound of the hooves fading. His curiosity, again, got the better of him, and he turned his head.

The rider was still following, but slowly, trying to keep to the side rather than right on the path. The Doctor, nearly winded, reached down and snagged one of the lights on the edge of the path, almost stumbling and almost dropping it as he tried to keep his pace during the execution of that stunt.

The sonic screwdriver was an easy grab, and the Doctor turned it on the light. It turned the pale blue glow up to an incandescent flash, and the Doctor tossed it over his shoulder, determinedly ignoring the rage of the horrors that pursued him. He reached a second flight of narrow steps that led up to the house and took them three at a time, practically hurtling them in his haste.

He dared another glance back only when he realized he wasn't hearing hooves anymore. The horse and rider were clearly detailed in the all too vivid light, the rider with a hand up over where its face ought to be, the horse with mad red eyes, his coat and nostrils steaming. The Doctor inched toward the house while they watched, and then the headless horseman reached down, seizing one of the jack-o-lanterns at the bottom of the stairs.

The Doctor turned and ran into the courtyard. Behind him, he thought he heard the flaming pumpkin shatter.

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
